


The Chronicles of Dean's Bisexuality

by mnwood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Asexual Castiel, Biphobia, Bisexual Dean, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bisexuality, Bottom Dean, F/F, F/M, Feminization, Gen, Gender Issues, Genderfluid Character, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Castiel/Meg Masters, POV Alternating, POV Outsider, Past Rape/Non-con, Polyamory, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:03:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 200,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2318450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnwood/pseuds/mnwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of what Supernatural would've been like if Dean Winchester was canonically bisexual from the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *****THIS FIC IS NOW COMPLETE.*****
> 
> A few things to note:
> 
> 1\. The rape/non-con tag is for what Dean went through in hell and some past sexual abuse that he experienced. It's warned before each chapter where it appears. PLEASE check the warnings before each chapter if you dislike certain ships or if you're uncomfortable with heavy topics that often shed bisexuality in a negative light.
> 
> 2\. The point of this fic is Dean/bisexuality. Yes, there's Dean/Cas, but it's not the central aspect of this story. 
> 
> 3\. This fic is not plot-based, but character-based. I'm literally following the plot of the show with the focus on Dean's sexuality. The plot starts to veer off course from canon around season 9. This doesn't really stand on its own, so if you haven't seen the show you probably won't understand what's going on.
> 
> 4\. Because I'm basically rewriting the show, I quote from canon A LOT. Like, probably way too much. Trust me, I hate it as much as you do.
> 
> 5\. This universe is slightly different than the Supernatural universe in that queer/transgender people are as common as the monsters Sam and Dean hunt. It is normal for Dean (and by extension, Sam) to know and use words like bisexual, nonbinary, polyamory, etc. because Dean's been around things like this all his life. Yes, it would be out of character on the show. No, it's not out of character in this fic.
> 
> 6\. Yes, I tagged Dean/Everyone, but there's no explicit Wincest in this fic.

 

“How long has this been going on?”

“Dad, I’m not—” 

“I’m not mad. I’m…I’m just worried is all. If something were to happen to you, and you couldn’t watch out for Sammy…I don’t know, Dean. I don’t know what I would do.”

Sam clenches his fists where he’s pretending to be asleep in the backseat. He’s 15 years old and still the only thing his dad cares about is Dean taking care of him. It’s bullshit.

“I’m 19 years old and I’ve killed vampires and shapeshifters, and you’re worried about _this_ being the thing that turns me in?” Dean accuses.

“ _People_ are the worst monsters, Dean. You should know this. Just—please. Be careful.”

Sam missed the beginning of this conversation, and it’s getting more and more confusing the longer he listens. He has no idea what Dean did that’s making his dad sound so panicked, but he’s wondering if _he_ should be panicking as well.

“I’m not going to get taken advantage of, Dad. I can take care of myself.” 

_Get taken advantage of? Who’s taking advantage of Dean?_

“I know, all right. Just promise me you won’t spend too much time in sleazy bars.”

“Are you kidding me? We basically _live_ in sleazy bars.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, boy. You know what I mean.”

Dean sighs. “Yes, sir. I’ll be careful.”

When Sam tries to ask Dean about it later, Dean cuts him off with, “Don’t worry about it, Sammy. It’s between me and Dad.” 

But Sam _does_ worry about it. He might not be able to talk to Dean about it, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to dwell on it a little. Dean’s his big brother, and as much as he tries to watch out for Sam, he’s eventually going to have to let Sam carry some of the burden for him. 

But even if Sam wanted to keep pestering Dean about it, he soon forgets. They settle down in a small town in Illinois, and Sam goes to school for a couple weeks while his dad and Dean go on sporadic hunts. Then they’re up and moving again and things are as normal as they’re ever going to be, and whatever concerns their dad had about Dean are never brought up again. At least not in front of Sam, anyway.

There’s a few nights, however, when Dean stumbles into whatever motel they’re staying in at 3 or 4 in the morning—sometimes he’s limping, sometimes he’s got a few bruises or scratches, sometimes it’s a combination. Sam always wakes up, and Dean always tells him to go back to sleep and not to worry about him. 

“And don’t tell Dad. I promise I’m all right.”

Sam keeps his mouth shut, but sometimes Dean looks so bad that Sam wants to shout at him to tell him what’s going on or else he’s going to tell Dad. Of course he would never actually do that. No, instead, Sam internalizes everything because he knows Dean’s not going to talk about this. On the nights when Dean comes home shivering and crying and shaking, Sam crawls into his bed and pulls him against his chest and tells him that everything will be all right. 

Sam doesn’t know if everything will be all right.

By age 17, Sam begins to believe that his brother is into gambling or hard drugs or something. The nights he comes home battered and bruised become more frequent, and sometimes he just doesn’t come home at all. He seems fairly capable of composing himself after each incident, though, and their dad never notices. Sam supposes that’s one of the perks of being hunters—you’re always a little messed up and worn down so nobody notices when it wasn’t a monster who did it.

At 18, Sam gets into college and has no idea what to say to Dean.

Dean has no idea what to say, either. He sits at the table looking at the floor like he’s just been told that somebody died.

“Dean.”

“It’s OK, Sammy.”

"Dean, I—I’m not leaving you. I’m leaving _this_ —” Sam gestures to the crappy room, “—and I wish you would, too.”

“You know I can’t.” Dean still won’t look up.

Sam sighs, and his voice goes soft. “I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Dean, but whatever it is…don’t let it destroy you.”

Dean’s eyes are hard and cold when they meet Sam’s. “You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

He leaves before Sam can say anything else.

 

* * *

 

Sam gets four calls from Dean while he’s in college. Two in his freshman year, one his junior year, and one his senior year. Dean was drunk in the first call, upset at Dad in the second, and broken in the last two. 

The third call is the only one Sam doesn’t answer. Dean leaves a voicemail that _almost_ makes Sam call him back.

 _“Heya, Sammy. I know you were worried about me for years. I mean, you probably don’t think much about it now, but I know you were. You—you were always so good trusting me and not asking questions even though…I know you knew something was up. I know you did. But I…”_ The line goes dead for a second. _“I think I’m doing better now. I’m getting better. I don’t know. We’ll see. Bye, Sammy.”_

Sam wants to call him back, tell him _of course I’m still worried about you, you idiot._ He wants to tell him that he still trusts him, that he’d do anything for him. Instead he hits delete and says nothing. 

It’s not until he’s laid out flat on the kitchen floor with Dean’s bright teeth the only visible thing above him that he realizes that yeah, nothing’s changed.

Sam feels like he’s 15 again and Dad let Dean take him on a trip just the two of them in the Impala. Except Dad’s missing and the Impala belongs to Dean now, and they’re headed to Jericho for a case instead of a day off from the paranormal. 

“How’s school?”

“I haven’t seen you in four years, and that’s your first question?” Sam fires back.

“Hey, man, I’m just happy to see my brother again. School’s the main thing you’ve been doing, so of course I want to talk about it. Well, maybe the second main thing you’ve been doing after that girl—”

“School’s fine.” 

“What’s up with you, dude? Not happy to see me?” 

Sam turns to look at Dean and finds that Dean’s looking at him instead of the road. “I just don’t get why _you’re_ so happy. Dad’s missing. You’re not worried?”

Dean looks back at the road and shrugs. “Too early to freak out.” 

“You’re _different_.”

“Yeah, well, lot’s happened.”

Sam huffs a laugh. "Yeah, like what?"

"You know, stuff. Shit happens, Sammy. You missed a lot."

“Dean, I wanted to ask you—”

“Sammy. Please not now." 

“You don’t even know—”

“I do know, and I don’t want to talk about it right now.” 

Sam lets it drop after that with the hopes that “right now” means that one day Dean _will_ want to talk about it. Whatever “it” is.

Their trip is quieter after that, but Dean picks up his chipper mood again after just a few miles and a couple good songs on the radio. By the time they check in at a motel, Sam’s starting to think he and Dean might actually get along on this trip. It seems like Dean has completely forgotten how hurt he was when Sam left, and Sam’s definitely not going to be the one to bring it up. For now they’re doing well working together and just being together in general, and Sam doesn’t want to be the one to fuck that up. There’ll be time to talk later. For now, they have a case.

Except.

There’s a young guy probably around Sam’s age working the front desk of the motel, and he seems a little nervous when they walk in. Dean asks for a room with twin beds, and when the guy hands him their keys Dean smiles and winks at him. The guy blushes and turns away, and Dean keeps right on smiling at him until he turns to Sam and makes a face at him like he’s just remembered that he’s here.

Dean shoves a key into his chest, hardens his expression and says, “Stop looking at me like that.”

Sam wants more than anything to ask what the hell that was about, but he refrains. They’ve got other shit to worry about right now.

It turns out hunting is second nature to Sam, because the way he and Dean work this case it feels like he never even left. Sure, he’s a little nervous with fraud around cops, and he and Dean have a mishap here or there, but overall it feels like it’s going to be a successful trip. Well, aside from still having no clue where their dad is.

They’re in a coffee shop waiting for a couple of teenagers that they’re planning on interviewing when it happens again. 

The guy who takes their order smiles brightly at both of them, and when Dean returns the smile and makes a joke, the guy laughs. Then Dean laughs. Then they look at each other, and the guy takes a little too long writing Dean’s name on the cup. 

When Dean gets his coffee, Sam glimpses just a few numbers next to Dean’s name—enough to realize that the barista left his number on Dean’s cup. Dean doesn’t say a damn word about it, and Sam pretends not to notice.

When they’re leaving, Dean stands at the trashcan staring at the cup for too long before throwing it away. He pulls out his phone and starts typing in it immediately after. 

Shit.

If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say that Dean is into dudes.

He starts thinking back on all the inexplicable behavior Dean demonstrated when they were teenagers, from the late nights to the stench of liquor and cologne on his skin. Dean’s never worn cologne. He thinks about all the times Dean came home with a pocket full of cash and looking like he’d been run over by a truck with the explanation, “Hustling pool isn’t as easy as it sounds.”

Sam had heard the brokenness in Dean’s voice, the way Dean would whisper, “Don’t tell Dad. This money’s for you and me.” He thought Dean was just being rebellious, and to be frank he chose to have selective memory about a lot of those incidents because they were really hard to digest during puberty.

But Dean was keeping a secret. Not a gambling problem or a drug problem or even an alcohol problem.

Sam’s starting to wonder if his brother had a much more carnal problem growing up.

Suddenly he’s thinking about the old voicemail that he’ll never get out of his head. _I’m getting better now._ Getting better at what? Is _this_ what Sam’s been worried about all these years?

His big brother, his guardian, his saving grace—was Dean shouldering an unnecessary weight just because they weren’t raised to handle personal problems? Or was this something much, much more?

Did Dean actually _like_ men or did he just…

Did he offer sex for money?

 

* * *

  

Jess is gone.

Nothing else really matters at this point. Jess is gone and nothing matters.

Sam feels nothing.

He stands in front of her grave with flowers in his hand and none of it is real. Time stops or speeds up or doesn’t exist at all or something, and when he finally gets in the car with Dean it feels like he’s already experienced a lifetime of grief. 

Going on hunts with Dean, looking for Dad, tracking down the demon responsible for all the pain in their lives—this is all Sam has at this point.

The weeks pass almost surreally—demon on a plane here, Bloody Mary curse there, shapeshifter Dean, bugs in a house—Sam working mostly on autopilot until the nightmares begin.

He knows almost immediately that they aren’t nightmares. They’re visions.

With all of this shit happening to Sam, he still stops short at something Missouri says to Dean.

“Glad to see you got out of the business, honey,” she says right after chastising Dean for hypothetically putting his feet up on the coffee table.

Dean clears his throat and looks awkwardly at Sam. “Yeah, um, thanks, Missouri. Listen, we’re actually here because—”

“I know why you’re here. I just thought I’d tell you that I’m proud of you. And Sam knows. He doesn’t know that he knows, but he does.”

Nobody says anything for a while after that, and then they move onto talking about the actual case. 

Sam shouldn’t even be thinking about this right now because they have bigger things going on, but he can’t stop his brain from wandering off in intense worry over Dean’s past. If Missouri’s talking about what Sam _thinks_ she’s talking about, then that means that yes, Dean probably spent a lot of his youth being—giving up his body for money.

Why did she have to bring it up _now_ of all moments. 

Sam pushes it down as much as he can and tries to stay focused on the multiple ghosts haunting their childhood home. Dean is clearly trying to do the same, and they stumble around each other with a little less ease than usual.

When it’s all over and done with and they’re driving silently down the long stretch of road ahead of them, Sam thinks about bringing it up. And Dean’s probably thinking about bringing up whatever the hell’s wrong with Sam’s brain. But neither of them says anything, and soon they’re on another case and distracted by other things once again.

Sam’s beginning to question the limits of how dysfunctional he and Dean are capable of being.

It only gets worse, too. Sam’s not one for hitchhiking, but apparently he can get fed up enough with Dean to literally get out of the car in the middle of the highway.

And apparently he cares about Dean enough to bring him back from an imminent death because he’s certainly not going to watch his brother die of a heart attack at 26. 

Before the faith healer, before the reaper, there was Dean on his deathbed trying to tie up all of his loose ends with Sam without actually saying anything at all.

Sam can’t hear any of it.

“I did the best I could, Sammy. When we were kids…I had to do whatever it took to take care of you. Dad was—he didn’t understand. He tried, but he didn’t get it. I was never—I never did anything…I didn’t do things I didn’t want to do, Sammy. I was safe—as safe as I could be. And I got out of it. I figured it all out, and I’m good now. I’m good.”

“Dean, I…you can _say_ it, you know. You can tell me.” 

But he doesn’t. Dean won’t say it, and Sam won’t say it and so they go through the motions and Dean comes out of it alive and they never talk about it again. 

And then Cassie Robinson happens.

It’s the first time Dean’s ever opened up about a relationship. Sam has to push to get information, but at least Dean’s not shutting down his questions before he can even ask them.

It’s here that Dean slips up.

“I was an idiot with her. I told her everything. I’m still not entirely sure which it was that she couldn’t deal with.”

“Which what?”

“I told her all about hunting and all about the supernatural and I couldn’t make it make sense, but then I just kept on going and told her about my—” Dean cuts himself off. 

Sam can't even find it in him to be pissed that Dean told girl-he-dated-for-two-weeks the big family secret when Jess didn't even know after a year and a half. “Your what?”

Dean turns a skeptical look on Sam. “You know what.”

“Do I? You’ve never _actually_ told me anything.”

Dean scrubs a hand down his face and resigns himself to telling Sam the truth. “I told her about my…my attraction to men.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Stephanie](http://demilarrydaley.tumblr.com/) for the banner!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of season 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Azazel saying really horrible stuff to Dean while in John's body, making threats of non-con, homophobic slurs.

Relief washes over Sam for the first time in months. Of course everything’s still broken and fucked up and shitty, but Dean’s _finally_ talking to him about this. 

He’s been waiting for this moment since he was 15. 

“Sam? Did I break you?” Dean asks, and that’s when Sam realizes that he doesn’t know how much time has passed since Dean’s confession.

“What? Sorry, no. Um. I just can’t believe you’re actually telling me this.” 

“Can we not do this? Can we not have a huge heart-to-heart over this? I didn’t even mean to—” 

“I know. You were talking about Cassie. So she was apprehensive because you’re attracted to men? What did she say?” Redirecting the conversation seems like Sam’s best option right now just to keep Dean talking. 

Dean grips the steering wheel harder and won’t turn to meet Sam’s gaze. “Do we really have to talk about this?” 

“Yes.”

“She asked if I would like her better and quit lying to her about dumb fairytale shit if she had a dick.”

Sam has to stifle a laugh. “And that’s how you ended it?”

“I tried to explain it to her better, but that just made it worse. We didn’t end on good terms, but, you know, that’s the nature of what we do. We don’t get to end on good terms with people.”

Sam’s heart falters at that, and he wonders if he and Dean will ever have normal lives. He of course already knows the answer to that question. Even when he was in college, his life never really felt “normal.” He’s stuck. Dean’s stuck, too. They’ll find Dad, kill this demon (or be killed by it), and then have no idea what to do with the rest of their lives. 

“You’re not going to be weird about this now, are you?” Dean asks apprehensively after a long pause.

“About what?”

“Can you please stop doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“I swear to god, dude—”

“OK, OK, I’ll stop. No, I’m not going to be weird about it. I really wish you’d talk to me about it, though.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

Sam can’t believe how ridiculously infuriating his brother can be sometimes. “Gee, I don’t know, maybe the _business_ you were into when we were kids? The voicemail you left on my phone saying that you’re ‘better’ now? That guy at the bar two days ago you gave your number to? Should I keep going?” 

Dean rolls his eyes in response.

“You’re really not going to tell me anything?”

“It’s not the time.”

Sam lets the silence drag on after that, and then he resigns himself to admitting, “I’m just glad you finally told me.”

“Yeah, well…it was an accident.” 

“I don’t care. I was worried about you, and now I’m less worried about you.”

“Please don’t worry about me, Sammy. I’m bisexual, not sick or dying or a fucking _psychic_.”

Now Sam’s the one rolling his eyes. “Fine, if I can’t worry about you, then you can’t worry about me.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Pause. 

“So, bisexual? That’s what it is?”

Dean turns to glare at Sam. “I will push you out of this car.”

  

* * *

  

Dean is nervous as hell to see Cassie again.

Apparently nervous enough to fucking _come out_ to his brother after keeping it a secret for the past eight or nine years. He knew it would have to happen eventually, but now is really not the time. Dean legitimately does plan on telling Sam everything he wants to know. He’s more willing to talk to Sam about this than he is with anybody else, but just not right now. 

Right now he’s coming face-to-face with the girl he poured his heart out to after only knowing her for a handful of days, and he has no idea what the fuck to say to her.

It turns out, of course, that there actually _is_ a case in this town, so Dean switches into work mode and pushes everything else to the back of his mind for the time being. And if his eyes drift over to Cassie a few times too often, well, he’s only human.

What he really doesn’t need is Sam telling him that he’s in love with her when Sammy doesn’t know a goddamn thing about it. 

Except Sam is totally right. If Dean doesn’t work things out with Cassie and get the closure they both need while he and Sam are here, then it might be a few long weeks of moping around and dealing with Sam’s lectures, and Dean is not going to put up with that. 

So he goes to Cassie’s house alone. They fight, they have sex, and in the morning she asks him why he told her everything.

“I _don’t_ know,” is the first thing out of his mouth. 

Dean thinks it’s going to be all right, that they can work things out, but then, “Are you still sleeping with guys?” 

“Excuse me?”

“C’mon, you’ve told me everything else and I believe you. I trust you, Dean.” 

Dean has no idea what she’s getting at, but he decides to play along. “Yeah, I’m still bisexual.”

Cassie’s quiet for a long time, but she continues stroking Dean’s bare chest as they lie in bed together so he thinks maybe it’s going to be better this time.

“I can’t get past that,” she finally admits.

“What do you mean?” Dean hates himself for how small his voice sounds. 

“The thought of you…doing stuff with men. It’s just weird. It makes me feel weird for sleeping with you.”

Dean has had this conversation with people literally dozens of times, and he’ll have it probably hundreds of more times in his lifetime, and yet he’s 100 percent certain that it will never become less irritating. 

“Cassie, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what to tell you. You seemed to be enjoying yourself last night, but if you want nothing to do with me, that’s fine. I’m not just going to _stop_ being attracted to men just because you can’t deal with it.”

Cassie props herself up then in order to glare at him, mouth open. Then she wraps the sheet around herself and stomps out of the room.

Dean takes that as his cue to leave. 

How he and Cassie manage to make it through the rest of the case working together is beyond him.

Sam, being Sam, of course knows that something is wrong, but whenever he tries to ask what’s going on, Dean, being Dean, cuts him off and tells him he can’t talk about it here. 

They’re checked in at a motel in the next town over and getting ready to turn in for the night when Dean decides to talk. “She could accept our lifestyle better than she could accept my orientation.”

Sam turns on his puppy-dog eyes, sympathetic face then and Dean has to stare down at his hands. “Dean, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. Not like it would’ve worked out anyway, right?”

“This isn’t the first time it’s happened, is it?”

Dean looks up then and meets Sam’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

“People have treated you like this before. How bad is it, Dean?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“God, quit—quit _doing this._ Quit shutting down every time I try to talk to you,” Sam explodes. 

Funny how Dean had this same argument with Cassie 24 hours ago. “Yes. All right? Yes. People treat me like shit, so what? They’d treat me like shit no matter what because guess what, Sammy? I _am_ shit. So cut the crap and quit trying to fix me or whatever the fuck.” 

Sam shakes his head and laughs, which is definitely not the reaction Dean was hoping to get out of him. “I can’t believe how backwards you’ve got it. People treat you poorly because _people_ are shitty, Dean. Not because you deserve it. I know you’re just going to roll your eyes and ignore me, but I’ll keep having this conversation with you until you believe it. I don’t care how long it takes. You’re my brother, and I won’t let you beat yourself up like this. You’ve been through enough.” 

“I’m going to sleep.” Dean flips over on his bed and burrows under the covers.

He’s expecting Sam to stop him, but then he hears him shuffle around and turn the lamp off. “If somebody cares who you have sex with or who you’re attracted to, that’s _their_ problem, not yours. Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Sammy.”

 

* * *

 

Sam wakes up from a nightmare that couldn’t have actually been a nightmare, and then they’re on the road and trying to get to Michigan as fast as possible and—

In the blink of an eye they’ve worked several more cases, discovered that Meg Masters is in fact not to be trusted, their dad has shown up and disappeared like a fucking ghost, and then suddenly Sam’s kissing a girl named Sarah Blake and it’s not bad, it’s not bad at all.

Dean’s in a particularly good mood when they’re in the car on the way to the next case, and Sam believes maybe his brother cares more about his personal life than he’s let on. Maybe Dean cares about Sam’s happiness as much as Sam cares about Dean’s. And not just happiness on the day-to-day, but overall happiness. The joy and peace that come with positive relationships and a place to settle down—they might not even think about it for themselves, but they want it more than anything for each other.

Unfortunately the more time that passes, the more hunts they go on, the more shitty motels they stay in, the further away they get from the hope of this happiness. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks after about an hour of near silence.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

“You could’ve stayed, you know. If you wanted to take her out a few more times, stick around for—”

“It’s fine. I know. You’re not holding me against my will, Dean.”

Dean shrugs like he’s got nothing else to argue. They fall back into silence until they stop at a motel for the night. The receptionist mistakes them as a couple, and as usual, Dean goes along with it.

“But we’d like two beds tonight if you don’t mind, sweetheart. You know, he’s all limbs—it gets a little exhausting on trips,” Dean teases with a light jab to Sam’s ribs.

Once they walk away with their keys, Sam asks, “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Play it off like we’re actually a couple.”

“Why not? Avoids an awkward situation for everyone. ‘Oh, we’re not gay—I mean, I sleep with men sometimes, but not _this_ man.’”

Sam laughs. “Good point.”

In the morning they get up early to head to Colorado for a potential vampire problem. When they get there, it seems like it’s going to be a cut-and-dry hunt. Until their dad shows up.

Sam thinks maybe they can get past their baggage now and be able to work together without killing each other, but he doesn’t even last an entire day before they get into a shouting match with Dean as the mediator. It turns out nothing’s changed in the past five years. 

Really it’s not Sam’s own fighting with his dad that bothers him. It’s when Dad and Dean come back to the motel the next afternoon, and Sam can hear them yelling on the other side of the door. It sounds like they’re trying to finish whatever argument they’re having before they come inside, so Sam decides to take a seat closer to the door to eavesdrop.

“You think I don’t know that? What do you think we’ve been doing for the past year, Dad?”

“All I’m saying is that you need to be _careful_ , Dean. I’m not cleaning up whatever mess you decide to make.” 

“Oh, really? And what mess is that? How can I _possibly_ fuck things up more than they’re already fucked up?”

“I don’t know, son, you managed to do it as a teenager—I’m sure you could surprise me again,” John answers coldly. 

There’s a long pause before Dean says, “What was I supposed to do, Dad? Let Sammy starve? Tell me what I was supposed to do.” 

“You were supposed to do what I told you! You weren’t supposed to—to _sell yourself_ to whoever would fuck you!”

Oh. It’s the first time Sam’s actually heard the words. It sounds like this is the first time it’s come up with Dad, too. After all the sneaking around and lying and “don’t tell Dad, Sammy,” all those years ago, Sam’s wondering how the hell this has come up _now_ of all times. 

“I’m not talking about this anymore,” Dean says quietly, and then Sam’s turning back to his laptop as quickly as possible as he hears the door start to open.

It’s uncomfortable, but of course none of them actually say anything about it. Dad and Dean stew in their anger for a while, and Sam has to pretend like he doesn’t know what’s going on. He wonders if this is how Dean used to feel anytime Sam was the one fighting with Dad.

When it’s just Sam and Dean in the car later, Sam asks if everything’s OK.

“No, but what else is new?”

“How did that even come up?”

Dean glares at Sam. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough. You don’t have to talk about it, but at least tell me if Dad knew about it before today.”

“No, he didn’t. He guessed and I didn’t deny it.”

Sam decides to leave it at that. “I’m sorry, Dean.” 

“It’s fine. We’re going to find this gun and kill this demon and then it won’t fucking matter anymore.”

Dean’s voice is so hard and sure that Sam doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t.

 

* * *

  

This is worse than any nightmare Sam’s ever had. It’s comparable to watching Jess die. It’s…

Yellow Eyes has them pinned to the wall, and he’s still wearing their dad. He’s giving Dean everything he’s got, and it’s worse than if Sam were being tortured himself. 

Dean is screaming, but the physical pain can’t be the worst part.

It can’t possibly be worse than the words coming out of the demon’s mouth in their dad’s voice.

“You think your daddy’s ever been _proud_ of you? Boy, he could barely _look_ at you for _years._ As if you didn’t disappoint him enough already, you went and sold yourself like a cheap street whore. He’s not even all right with you being a fag, so imagine how he feels about you being a fag hooker. How many people have ravaged you, Dean? How many men have ripped you apart from the inside out?” He leans in close here, and Dean stops screaming. The demon's letting up on the physical pain for this moment. “I bet you liked it, too, you disgusting little cockslut. Would you like me, too? If I got in there and tore you up—would you like it, Dean? You’ve got buckets of daddy issues, I bet it would be good for your daddy to—” 

Sam can’t listen anymore.

But then it’s not the demon’s voice he's hearing. It’s his dad’s. And he’s begging for Sam to kill him.

And Sam can’t.

They’re driving to the hospital and Sam’s knuckles are white on the wheel as his dad shouts at him but the only thing Sam can think is _Dean, must help Dean, must save Dean_ —

Crash. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Dean/Gordon, mentions of Dean struggling with gender identity (will be addressed more later), polyamorous relationship.

Dean’s dying. He knows he’s dying, and he knows there’s not much he can do about it. Doesn’t mean he’s not going to walk his spirit-self around this hospital until he figures something out though.

Meeting Tessa is an unexpected surprise. 

Tessa is quite possibly the most androgynous person Dean’s ever laid his eyes on. With a strong jaw and boyish face, curves and flat chest, broad shoulders and half a foot shorter than Dean, there’s no way to describe this person other than ethereal.

Dean’s immediately transfixed.

“Are we dead?”

Dean doesn’t know how to have this conversation, doesn’t know how to show Tessa that their body is lying in a hospital bed, doesn’t know what to do when Tessa takes the news way better than Dean did.

That’s a little suspicious, but he doesn’t have time to worry about it right now.

He’s able to talk to Sam through a fucking Ouija board and tell him that there’s a reaper after him. God bless Sam and his ridiculous faith in dumb mystical things that somehow always end up working. Sam is truly the master of last resorts. 

He can’t really accomplish much in his current state, but luckily Sam’s reading up on reapers and Dean's able to read over his shoulder and something catches his eye.

_Reapers can alter human perception. They can make people see them however they want._

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters before going to find Tessa.

“That was clever, you know.” 

“How’s that?” Tessa asks calmly from where they’re seated on a hospital bed, now wearing a suit with a vest and no jacket. 

“Most monsters would probably just go for the pretty girl, but you were creative. You hit my soft spot with your—your gender fluidity. Real smart.”

“You’re not difficult to figure out, Dean.” 

“Gee, thanks, what a nice thing to hear from the person about to kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you. And I’m not a person. My true form would…overwhelm you.”

As if Dean’s not already overwhelmed with the beautiful _human_ picture sitting in front of him. “I’m not going with you.”

“Dean, you have to understand. You don’t have to come with me, but you’re never returning to your body. You’ll stay here, like this, forever. How do you think vengeful spirits are born?”

Dean knew that’s what was coming next, but it doesn’t mean he was any more prepared for it. He can’t die. He can’t fucking die. He’s got Sam to watch out for, and a demon to kill, and his dad needs him right now.

But Tessa is surreal and convincing and Dean’s seriously considering that this might be it for him. They talk for a long enough time that Dean’s nearly forgotten why he was so upset about dying in the first place. After all, kicking the bucket with a non-binary bombshell ain’t such a bad way to go, is it?

No, not bad at all.

 

* * *

 

John is sick of fighting. It seems like all he ever does with Sammy is fight. He’s lost the willpower to keep this up. 

He’s lost the willpower to do anything really. He just wants all of this to be over, and he wants both of his sons to come out of it alive. 

Selling his soul for Dean isn’t exactly a decision as much as it is just the logical next step in the equation. It’s all worth it when he walks into the hospital room to find both of his sons a little battered but awake and talking to each other.

There’s a whole lot he wants to say to Sammy, but he has no idea how to break through that wall his son keeps up for the sole purpose of pushing him out.

The best he can do is get Sam out of the room in order to talk to Dean. 

He wants to tell him that he’s sorry, that he didn’t do his best, that he never taught Dean what he needed to know, that he was an idiot for treating Dean differently after finding out that he’s gay—bisexual, whatever.

Of course he had vague notions of what he wanted his boys to be like when they grew up. Before…Mary—before the demon came, John always pictured them playing ball in the backyard, getting into honors programs at school, going to fancy universities and settling down with wives and great kids. He lost sight of that dream so abruptly that it’s hard to even remember what that man was like. What that father was like.

With all the shit the three of them went through, and always worrying that Sam could go “bad” any day now, John was absolutely blindsided when his oldest son, his perfect soldier, ended up being the one keeping him up at night.

He doesn’t even remember the girl’s name. All he remembers is coming home to their apartment at the time to find Dean tied to his bed, naked save for a pair of women’s underwear. 

The girl was on the other side of the room, praising Dean for what a good girl he was being and asking him how big he thinks her cock is.

“As big as you’ve got—please. I need it. I want—I need you to fill me up. I’m a good girl, please fill me up.”

Those words coming out of his 19-year-old son’s mouth still haunt John to this day. 

He almost saw red, but he composed himself enough to take his rage out on the strap-on in the girl’s hand instead of on her or Dean. The dildo missed Dean’s head by an inch as it flew across the room.

The girl left without her panties.

John made Dean burn them.

Not that it matters now, but if he could go back, he would handle the situation differently. Instead of thinking that his son’s got some kind of _problem_ , he’d actually talk to him about his gender identity (a term he learned doing research much, much later—when it was irrelevant) and what measures they could take to make Dean feel comfortable—feel like himself. 

But John thinks Dean probably never would’ve said anything about it even if he’d been more accepting. The only confession John could really get out of Dean is, “I’m attracted to some men, too. I don’t know,” two weeks after the incident with the girl. 

Missouri was the one who told him that Dean was bisexual, and that he’d never say that word to his dad because he thought he wouldn’t understand.

John _didn’t_ understand, and he had to ask Missouri to explain. 

He thought he could finally move past it, accept his son exactly the way that he is—but then Dean said something suspicious just a couple weeks ago and John put all the pieces together and it turns out it was so much worse than he ever imagined. His son, his own flesh and blood, allowed men to fuck him for money. John wanted to break down and cry, but instead he had shamed Dean and yelled at him and said all of the wrong things.

He wishes he could take everything back. All the pain, all the damage done to Dean—John’s now taking it all upon himself. It’s his fault Dean had to prostitute himself so that Sammy wouldn’t starve. His fault that Dean’s messed up in more ways than one. His fault. Not Dean’s. His.

There’s so much John wants to say to Dean right now, but there’s no time. And there are no words.

“I’m really proud of you, Dean.”

John hates the skepticism in his son’s face. Dean knows something is wrong, and he knows John would never say stuff like this to him if it weren’t life or death. 

But it’s all John knows how to say. _I’m proud of you and I’m sorry and I love you and I accept you._ “You’re a good person, Dean. Much better than me. I want you to watch out for Sammy, OK?”

“Of course, Dad, you know I will. You’re scaring me.”

“It’s all right. Everything’s all right.”

Scared out of his mind, John leans down and whispers to Dean that everything is, in fact, not all right.

_If you can’t protect him, you’ll have to kill him._

It’s one of the last orders he gives Dean before he dies.

 

* * *

  

The fire is warm and bright and horrible.

“Before he…Before—did he say anything to you? About anything?”

“No. Nothing.” 

Sam knows Dean is lying. Dean probably knows that Sam knows, but they don’t say anything else. Whatever Dad said to Dean, it’s not relevant right now. Sam’s going to mourn his father’s death and not dwell on the fact that the last thing he asked Sam was _can we please not fight for once._

Sam couldn’t even obey _that_ order. It’s no wonder Dean was the one who got the private farewell speech.

There’s a part of Sam betraying him right now, the part of him saying that in any other situation—any other family—he would’ve been the favorite child. Sam would’ve been the one who got along with his dad. His dad should’ve been proud of a son who went to Stanford and was on his way to law school, but instead he was proud of the son who bowed at his feet and did everything he told him to with the glaring exception of being a wh—

Sam shuts that part of himself down before it gets a chance to think of something he’ll really regret. He’s in mourning—doesn’t mean he needs to take it out on his brother.

They’re at Bobby’s house for three days before Bobby asks Sam how Dean’s doing.

“He won’t talk about it. He’s just being—being Dean.”

“He’ll come around, Sam. Might take a while, but it’ll happen. Maybe you should try to find a case? Get him to do something other than work on that damn car.”

Another five days pass before Sam comes up with anything. It’s a long shot, but he’s trying his best. He tries to be as nonchalant as possible when he goes out to the junkyard to talk to him, but Dean catches on pretty quick. 

“What do you want me to say, Sam? You want me to cry on your shoulder for a while? Talk about my feelings?”

“Yeah, actually, that would be great.”

Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to the car. “I got nothing to say, Sammy.”

“Say something, Dean! Dad is dead and the demon’s still out there and all you can do is work on this fucking car.”

This isn’t how this conversation was supposed to go, but it’s getting harder and harder for Sam to keep a level head around Dean lately. He lets Dean shout back, and then he calms down enough to redirect his attention to a voicemail on their dad’s phone.

It’s easier than Sam anticipated to convince Dean to go meet this Ellen at some place called the Roadhouse. Almost too easy.

The place looks completely deserted when they get there, but there’s some guy with a mullet sleeping on a pool table which might be a good sign or a bad sign, there’s really no telling which. 

The next thing Sam knows, he’s being pushed into the main bar with a gun to his back, and Dean’s there holding his bloody nose—also with a gun pointing at him. 

It doesn’t look like it’s going to go well with them until Ellen asks if they’re Winchesters, and then all the tension evaporates.

Dean and Jo give each other strange looks then, and Sam pretends like he doesn’t notice. Not important right now.

It’s hard when Ellen asks about their dad, but Sam manages to answer since Dean doesn’t know how. Ellen was clearly really close to their dad, and immediately Sam thinks she’s trustworthy.

He’s a little more apprehensive when Ash rolls off the pool table, and Ellen and Jo insist that he’s a genius who can help them track the demon. Dean comments that he looks like a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie, and when Ash responds with, “I like you,” Dean blushes and averts his eyes to the floor.

God, Sam’s starting to wonder if there’s anybody Dean _isn’t_ attracted to. He goes out of his way to compliment Ash’s hair, and then he immediately turns around and stares at Jo’s ass. Sam supposes this is Dean’s bizarre way of coping—or avoiding coping—with their dad’s passing.

Ash asks for 51 hours to work his magic, so Sam finds a case that he and Dean can go on in the meantime. It’s pretty cut-and-dry aside from the fact that it includes fucking _clowns_ and Sam would rather bury himself in a ditch than have to deal with those creepy fucking things.

When they get back to the Roadhouse, Ash explains what he found and Dean gets a little too flustered when he stops him from using his computer and then tells them that he got kicked out of MIT for fighting. Dean’s a bit too obvious when he starts squirming in his seat, so Sam kicks his leg under the bar to tell him to _calm your dick_. He makes a mental note that Dean definitely has a thing for dangerous guys.

They’re sitting at the bar later when Jo gives Sam a look and he takes the hint that she wants to talk to Dean privately.

Dean smiles warmly at her before returning to Sam with a much harder look and saying, “All right, let’s go.”

“What was _that_ about?”

“None of your business, bitch.”

“What could she possibly have to say to you in private? We literally met them two days—”

“Drop it, Sammy. It’s between me and Jo, all right? You don’t have to know every little detail of my life, you know.” 

Sam shuts up after that. If he gives up on this trail, maybe Dean will be more willing to share something else later on. Sam’s got to start deciding what’s vital to know about his brother and what’s just his curiosity getting the better of him. He can only ask so much at a time, and Dean’s only willing to offer random bits here and there.

When they get back to Bobby’s, Sam makes a rash decision to pour his heart out to Dean and tell him how sorry he is about everything that happened between him and Dad. He ends by saying that he’s not OK, and neither is Dean, and then he goes back inside before Dean has a chance to respond.

Sam watches from Bobby’s front window as his brother takes a crowbar to the material possession he values most in the world. The one he just spent more than a week rebuilding from the ground up to be exactly the way it was before. Sam doesn’t realize he’s crying until he sees a tear drop to the window frame, and that really just opens the floodgates. He’s crying like a baby, and Dean’s angry as hell, and nothing seems like it’s going to be OK after this.

 

* * *

 

Dean doesn’t even know what he’s feeling, he just had an urge to hit something and the Impala seemed like the logical choice. He doesn’t even feel guilty about it. He doesn’t feel anything anymore.

His dad’s dead and it’s his fault and they’re not going to get anywhere without him and—

Sam’s more messed up than he could’ve ever imagined. The weight of the whole fucking world just dropped right onto Dean’s shoulders, and his shoulders weren’t very strong to begin with. And of all things, _Sam_ is the one feeling guilty. Fucking hell.

His saving grace is that Ellen, Jo and Ash are now around to help. As soon as Dean turned around and unarmed Jo, he recognized her.

It took her a little longer, as evidenced by the punch to the face. They had just a moment of mutual recognition and understanding before Ellen and Sam had interrupted them.

Dean was 23 years old, and he was feeling more horrible than usual about Sam being away at college. He found a suspicious incident in Nebraska, and he had asked his dad if he could check it out by himself.

“Don’t do anything stupid” was the only thing his father had said before tossing him the keys to the car. 

He was in a bar on day two of interviewing people when he noticed Jo staring at him from across the room. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her on this trip, and he was starting to believe that she was following him. 

When he approached her, she looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and Dean’s suspicions were confirmed before she even opened her mouth. 

“Why you tailing me?” Dean had asked as he plopped down next to her and ordered two beers.

“I’m not 21,” she had said more confidently than Dean expected. 

“You got in here with a fake, you’ll be fine. Answer the question.”

“You’re a hunter.”

Now Dean was the one looking guilty. “Excuse me?”

“I’m looking into the same case you’re working on. I know a hunter when I see one. So, what do you think it is? I think it’s a vengeful spirit.”

“What game do you think you’re playing?” 

“My mom owns a bar that a bunch of hunters come to.”

“Why the hell should I believe you?”

“Do you know Riley? Or maybe Younts and Hurley? Lyn Aaronson?” 

Holy shit, she wasn’t lying. “All right, so you know some hunters. You seem a little young to be out hunting yourself, don’t you think?”

“Says the prepubescent boy sitting next to me.”

“Well, _you’re_ —a prepubescent boy,” Dean mumbled.

 “I’m Jo.”

“Dean.”

“So which of these guys you taking home tonight, Dean?”

“Ex _cuse me?”_

“Oops, touchy subject, got it. I just noticed you checking out a few of the more burly ones and thought—” 

“Didn’t you want to talk about the case?”

The longer they sat there and drank, the more information Dean got out of Jo. It turned out she had run away from home because her mom refused to let her hunt, and she wanted to prove herself. There was nothing in the world she wanted to do more than hunt, and Dean thought she was absolutely insane for it. At the end of the night they exchanged numbers and agreed to meet up the next morning to investigate together.

Dean woke up the next day to a text that read, _Mom caught me. Had to go home. Hopefully I’ll see you again someday._

“Someday” is now, and that young girl Dean thought he’d never see again just recently whispered in his ear that she didn’t tell her mom about him and that she won’t say a word about the men he was checking out, but that doesn’t mean she’s not going to tease him in private about his poor tastes. Dean likes Jo. A lot. Maybe at a different time, under other circumstances, he’ll ask her out. He wonders if she thinks he’s gay, but she openly flirts with him so maybe she’s more intuitive than most people.

Finding the Roadhouse and consequently finding Jo again is the only stroke of luck Dean’s had in—well, years.

Things might be terrible with Sammy right now, but for the first time in a long time Dean feels like he’s got other people to turn to other than his dad and brother. He doesn’t let himself wonder if his dad had been preventing him from having other friends—other support—all his life. 

 

They meet Gordon Walker in Red Lodge, Montana, in a strange case of cattle mutilation that turns out to be a vampire problem. Gordon’s a vampire hunter, and Dean finds him absolutely fascinating. Mysterious. Good-looking. Dangerous. Every combination of “bad” his dad warned him against, and everything Dean loves to indulge in.

They're at a bar celebrating Dean's decapitation of a vamp, and he’s one shot and two beers in when he notices that Sam is not having a good time. Sam doesn’t trust Gordon, and Dean really can’t blame him because he doesn’t trust him either. But Sam doesn’t have the please-fuck-me-against-a-wall blinders on like Dean does, and it looks like he can tell what’s going through Dean’s mind and disagrees.

It’s after his third shot that Sam asks to speak with him privately, and Dean promises Gordon they’ll be right back.

“ _What?”_ Dean asks before Sam can go on the offensive.

“Are you kidding me? Can you stop thinking about your dick for five seconds and recognize that this is a bad idea?”

“Not really, no.”

“Is this _funny_ to you?” 

God, he hates when Sam talks to him like that, like he’s some kind of disobedient child. “I can handle myself, Sammy. You can go back to the motel, nobody’s forcing you to stay here.”

Sam crosses his arms and stares Dean down before continuing, “Are _you_ going to come back to the motel?” 

Dean can’t help but smirk. “I don’t know, we’ll see what happens.”

“What’s gotten into you? A couple months ago you would barely even _look_ at a guy with me in the room.”

“Oh I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable? Would you prefer me to lock myself back in the closet while in your sensitive presence?”

“I just don’t want you getting into any trouble. I think Gordon’s bad news, and I don’t want him to—” 

“All right, _Dad,_ I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Dean walks past Sam and back into the bar before he can see his brother’s reaction. He doesn’t come back in, and Dean realizes when he sits down that he doesn’t have his keys on him. Looks like he's got no choice but to go home with Gordon.

“Sammy coming back?” Gordon asks suggestively. 

Dean wants to correct him for the nickname, but he wants to get laid more. “No, we’re all alone. He took my car, too. You think you could…”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s no problem.”

Dean loses track of how much more he drinks after that. He thinks Gordon might’ve stopped a while ago, which probably means he’s trying to be sober enough to drive. Dean spills pretty much everything and uses the excuse that he can’t talk about this stuff with Sam because he’s got to be tough for him. He probably shouldn’t be so vulnerable, but fuck it, he wants this guy's dick in his ass.

Dean goes to the bathroom before they leave, and he’s only a little disappointed when Gordon doesn’t follow him. There’s still plenty of time left tonight though. 

Gordon asks where Dean’s motel is, and Dean guides him there. He wants to ask why the hell they’re going back to _his_ motel where Sam is, but he’s a little too drunk to verbalize.

When Gordon stops in the parking lot, Dean barely waits for the car to be in park before he’s pulling him to him and kissing him forcefully.

The guy pulls back so violently that he almost hits his head against his window. “What the _fuck_ was that?”

Dean’s first instinct is to apologize, run, never look back. But he goes with his second instinct instead. “Oh, _come on_ , don’t act like you don’t want to fuck me.”

Gordon turns his head forward so he doesn’t have to look at Dean. His face is unreadable. “You really thought…”

“You straight? Is that your thing? I bet you’ll only fuck a guy if he’s real pretty and submissive. Not afraid to let you do whatever you want. You can say no if you want, but, uh, that’s kind of my _specialty_ , if you know what I mean.” Dean’s used to giving variations of this speech on automatic, as a job, a means to a monetary end. But right now he really means it. He _really_ wants Gordon to rough him up a bit, make him forget about all the shit that’s going on. He’s in a good mood, and this would just make it that much better. 

“Get out,” Gordon commands.

Dean thinks he might’ve crossed a line, and he starts to get scared. He obeys quickly, and within a few seconds he’s halfway to his room’s door.

And then there’s hands grabbing his biceps from behind and pushing him until he’s up against a wall on a deserted side of the building. One side of his face scratches against the brick before Gordon lets his arms go so Dean can brace himself on his elbows. He spreads his legs and whines when his jeans and boxers are yanked down in one motion.

Gordon is rough and unforgiving, and Dean loves every second of it. When he’s close, he has to take a hand off the wall to jerk himself off since Gordon has no intention of touching him there. He comes with a scream, and Gordon shoves a hand over his mouth as he continues to fuck him until he’s seeing stars. He pulls out before he comes, and it’s only at this point that Dean hopes he was wearing a condom. 

They stay together for a minute, breathing heavy and trying to compose themselves. Gordon puts his mouth right up against Dean’s ear and whispers seriously, “You tell anybody about this, I’ll kill you.”

A weak new wave of arousal flies through Dean’s chest at the threat.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“The way I’ve been acting. And for Dad.”

Sam doesn’t know what to do with this. Dean just randomly pulled over on the side of the road and decided to talk about Dad. By the time Dean’s done, Sam’s feeling a weird mixture of relieved and pitying. His brother doesn’t need to carry the weight of his dad’s mistakes. As usual, Sam wishes there was a way he could take some of the burden, but he knows there’s no chance that Dean would let him.

They’re silent in the car for several long miles before Dean decides to spill even more.

“I let Gordon fuck me. The night you’d been captured. I, um, I barely even noticed you were gone.”

“I figured.” Sam didn’t expect Dean to ever tell him, but he assumed it as soon as he got back to the motel.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been selfish. I haven’t—I didn’t—god, I—” 

“It’s OK, Dean. I get it. I’m not mad at you.” _Just be careful,_ he almost adds, but then he remembers that’s what Dad was always saying.

“Yeah, well, you should be.”

“Dean, you’re going to sleep with whoever you want to sleep with, and I’m not going to try to stop you. I mean, I’ll kill somebody if they mess with you, but you’re my big brother and you can make your own decisions.” 

There’s a long pause before Dean answers, “Thanks, Sammy.”

 

* * *

  

They’ve barely begun a case in Philadelphia when they realize that Jo tagged along behind them. She and Dean seem to be more at odds with each other than before, and Dean feels responsible for her disobedience to her mom. When they get back to the Roadhouse, Sam and Dean wait outside while Jo and Ellen talk, and when Jo comes outside she immediately goes to Dean and looks pissed. Dean just shakes his head when he walks over to Sam, and it’s left at that.

The months pass, Sam and Dean learn about hellhounds and the Croatoan virus, and they meet other psychics like Sam.

It’s not exactly the best news Sam’s ever heard when Dean tells him that their dad told him he might have to kill him.

He’s so mad, so hurt, so scared when he hears it that he doesn’t even know what words are coming out of his mouth. He just knows that he’s screaming at Dean, and Dean is yelling back, and nothing makes any sense at all. 

The only logical thing to do is run.

The next thing Sam knows, he’s trying to explain everything to a panicked girl named Ava, and Dean’s giving him a code word to indicate that he’s in trouble, and apparently Sam’s going to die in an explosion while he tries to save Dean. 

It’s Gordon behind it, and Sam can’t help but worry about the kinds of things he’s—he could be doing to Dean in the time it takes him to get there. 

But it all turns out all right, everything considered.

Sam could kill Gordon, and god does he want to. Gordon left Dean tied up in the other room with marks on his neck and a gash on his face. He doesn’t know what Gordon might’ve had planned for Dean, but he’d rather not find out. He doesn’t want to think about it while he’s got a shotgun to Gordon’s head.

His brother is his priority, and getting both of them out of here alive is what’s important right now. So he doesn't shoot. He unties Dean, and then it's his brother taking care of him instead of the other way around.

Sam breathes a huge sigh of relief when the police show up, and he doesn’t even have it in him to care how Gordon found out about his…psychic crap.

Things return to the Winchester version of normal for a while after that—couple hunts, few run-ins with the law, the usual. 

Sam unknowingly gets possessed by Meg and really believes for a while that he’s not in control of himself anymore and needs to be killed before anyone else gets hurt. It’s a horrifying experience coming in and out of consciousness and trying to remember each time that _yes, that’s a demon controlling_ _my body and no, there’s nothing I can do about it._

He doesn't sleep for a week after that.

They meet and kill a trickster for the first time, and Sam harbors an uneasy feeling about the whole situation. He takes note that the trickster conjured male and female strippers to entice Dean, and he plans on looking into the different ways in which monsters find things out about people. It seems a little ludicrous that monsters would intuitively be able to determine that Dean is bisexual when not even human beings believe him when he flat-out tells them with examples and evidence and everything. It all seems a little too fishy for his liking.

They go from town to town until Sam is stopped in his tracks by a beautiful woman named Madison. He’s—he feels a little empty when he has to…when he has to put her down. It’s reminiscent of his feelings for Jessica when she passed away, but it’s also much different. He actually pulled the trigger on this one. He doesn’t think there’s anything in the world that could be worse. He’s very quiet for the next several days, and Dean lets him be. 

They end up in jail in Arkansas, and though it’s just a case and an act, Sam’s worried sick over Dean. Dean is all cockiness and smooth smiles and winking, and Sam’s not an idiot when it comes to his brother. He sees how the other inmates are checking him out, giving him a lot more than just a once-over. Dean’s got soft features and an objectively beautiful face, and compared to the rest of these guys here he’s a fucking Cleopatra. 

And he knows it. He keeps using it to pick fights and land himself in solitary. More than a handful of guys have made advances on him, and Dean goes along with it like the fucking tease that he is. Sam wonders how the hell he ended up with such a carefree and care _less_ sibling after everything they’ve been through. 

“Dean, can you be a little more careful?” Sam asks seriously after the third or fourth time Dean’s been punched in the face. 

“What? I’m just having a little fun, trying to gain some respect in this place. Lighten up, Sammy.”

“You’re not going to—you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

Dean’s face changes then, and Sam can see that he understands what’s implied. “No. This is strictly business, and even _I’m_ not dumb enough to drop the soap in here.” 

“Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”

Sam can see that Dean’s affected by their conversation, but he doesn’t have to say anything. He already knows that Dean’s feeling bad because Sam doesn’t really trust him. 

Well, it’s not that he doesn’t trust him—he trusts him with a lot of stuff actually. He’s just protective and wishes Dean valued himself more and thinks that Dean is more likely to make bad decisions with men than not.

The sooner they can put prison behind them, the better.

What Sam has coming next, though, makes jail seem like a fucking walk in the park.

 

* * *

 

Dean wakes up naked in bed in a house he’s never seen before, sandwiched between a naked woman with long black hair and a dude about his size except with a lot more muscle and with several large dreadlocks flowing down his back. A threesome? The fuck?

Dean tries not to panic as he throws clothes on and calls Sammy. 

“I have no idea where I am. I think the djinn got to me. I woke up between some hot chick and dude.”

“Who? Carmen and Al?”

“What?”

“Dean, you’re drunk. You’re drunk dialing me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He hangs up before Dean can ask anything else.

Shit. What alternate universe did he just get beamed into. Since when does he have threesomes. 

He picks up some mail and sees his name, Carmen’s, and Allen’s repeated throughout the pile. He finds out that he’s in Lawrence right before a female voice (Carmen, then) calls his name.

“Honey, what are you doing up? Allie and I were worried about you.”

“Hey. Ca—Carmen. I was just, uh…”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

She wraps her arms around Dean’s neck and Dean’s not sure how to respond. “Yeah.”

“Well, you know, Allie and I could help with that. He’s awake, too.”

Shit. Seriously what universe is this. 

“OK, yeah, um, that sounds great. You go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Carmen kisses him and it’s really nice and he’s really tempted to follow her and see what kind of relationship the three of them have, but he’s distracted by pictures all around the living room.

Pictures of him and Carmen and Al at a fancy restaurant, him and Carmen and Al at a party where he’s in the middle and they’re kissing both his cheeks, but then there’s also pictures of Sam and—and their mom.

Dean grabs his keys and heads straight for his childhood home.

When his mom answers the door, Dean doesn’t even care what game the djinn’s playing. His mom’s alive and that’s literally all he cares about right now.

“Carmen called and said she and Al were worried about you, that you just took off all the sudden.”

“Carmen and Al? Right. Let me ask you a question.”

Mary passes Dean’s test, and then he’s hugging her and breathing in her warmth and everything seems like it’s going to be all right. He asks about Dad, and it’s strangely comforting news to hear that he died in his sleep. His mom can tell that something’s off about him, but he doesn’t care. He wants all the information he can get, and he’s going to keep asking questions until he figures everything out. 

He even finds out that he and Carmen and Al have all been together for two years now, and they were best friends before that. They tried dating each other separately and quickly realized that it was useless if not all three of them were involved. It was Dean’s idea to try polyamory.

“And you’re OK with that?” Dean asks after his mom has explained. 

“Dean, it’s been two years. Don’t you think I would’ve said something by now?” 

“Yeah! I mean, yeah, you’re right. Sammy’s all right with it?”

Mary gives Dean a sad look, and that’s the only answer Dean needs. Sam’s OK with it because Sam doesn’t really care what Dean does with his life. 

The next day, Dean forgets that things between him and Sam probably aren’t great the moment he sees Jessica get out of the car. 

Jess. Sam is dating Jess and he’s in law school at Stanford and everything is perfect. 

Dean sits in between Al and Carmen at dinner and isn’t really quite sure what to do with all the attention they give him. Al has his arm around the back of Dean’s chair and occasionally rubs his back while Carmen whispers in his ear and touches his hand a lot. How in the world did Dean get lucky enough to land not just one insanely hot person, but two. 

He must’ve said that out loud, because Al responds, “Carm and I have really low standards” in a smooth baritone voice that goes straight to Dean’s dick. Christ. How does he handle being in public with these people. How does he _live_ with these people. 

Sam and Jess announce that they’re getting engaged, and excitement pours over Dean so absolutely that he turns to kiss Carmen and then Al before they continue eating. Dean’s suddenly aware that they’re getting strange looks from other patrons in the restaurant, and he doesn’t care. In fact, he thinks it’s cool as fuck.

He’s not ready to turn in for the night when they get back home, so he suggests they all go out to a bar and continue celebrating. However, his mood is quickly squashed when Sam asks to talk with him privately.

Sam reveals what Dean suspected and then some—that they aren’t close, they don’t really have anything in common, Dean’s been nothing but a dick to Sammy. 

Dean doesn’t know why he says it. He knows it’s not important, but he can’t think of anything else to say when Sam’s done. “Does this have anything to do with my relationship with Al and Carmen?” 

“What? No. God, you’re always so paranoid about that. Nobody cares who you fuck, Dean.”

Well. Turns out Sam doesn’t really…give a fuck. Dean’s now regretting all the times in his life he got mad at Sam for caring too much, for being too protective, for acting too much like Dad. He'd much prefer that over this.

When he’s back at home watching TV with Carmen and Al, they try to cheer him up about Sam, but he knows he’s not making any sense to them. He impulsively starts kissing Carmen, and when they really start getting into it he feels strong arms wrap him up from behind and a stubbly mouth latch onto his neck. He wonders if this is how it always is, the three of them moving together seamlessly with Dean at the center.

Carmen breaks away after a second and says that she has to go to work. Dean leaves Al on the couch to see Carmen pull out her scrubs, and he gets a weird sense of pride that his girlfriend’s a nurse.

When he returns to Al, he decides to be brave and asks, “Where were we?” before sealing their mouths together.

Al’s reaching for the fly of Dean’s pants when Dean stops and turns to the television. 

_…Marks the anniversary of the crash of United Brittannia Flight 424…_

“No, no, no, I stopped that crash,” Dean murmurs to himself. 

“What’s that, babe?” Al asks as he sits up and places a hand on Dean’s lower back.

Dean doesn’t respond. He’s transfixed on the news, and then he’s heading to a computer and researching all the lives of all the people he’s saved while hunting.

They’re all dead. 

He didn’t save any of them.

“Dean, you’re worrying me. Why don’t you come to bed and we can—”

“Sorry, Al, I have to do something,” Dean states before grabbing his jacket and leaving without looking back.

It takes a lot of time yelling at his dad’s grave before Dean makes the decision to fight this djinn. If this is what a perfect world looks like, then Dean doesn’t want it.

Yeah, it’s nice that his mom is alive. But is it worth it?

 

* * *

 

“And get some pie!”

It’s the last thing Sam hears his brother say before he lands on his ass in the middle of a seemingly deserted small town in the middle of nowhere. 

All right. No need to panic. This is weird, yes, but it’s definitely not the weirdest thing that’s happened to him. There’s no immediate threat, but that doesn’t mean Sam’s not feeling a little anxious. 

Before he’s even had time to explore the place and try to figure it out, he runs into Andy—a psychic like him that he met a few months back. Then there’s Ava and Lilly and Jake and the pieces start to come together.

They were all brought here. Sam’s sure there’s a purpose for it, but he has no idea what it could be.

He doesn’t have to wait long for answers. Yellow Eyes shows up in the middle of the night and tells Sam that he’s his favorite.

He tells him that it’s a competition, and that only one psychic kid will get out of it alive. Sam doesn’t really want to think about what happens after that one kid is chosen; all he knows is that he’s not going to fucking kill anyone in order to make it out of here. He’s already thinking of ways to save everyone.

That is, until the demon takes him back to November 2, 1983, and shows him quite possibly the most horrific thing Sam’s ever seen.

Himself, as a baby, having demon blood dripped into his mouth right before his mom is burned to death on the ceiling of his nursery.

Sam feels like he’s going to vomit when he wakes up, but then Jake’s telling him that Ava’s missing and everything moves so fast that next thing he knows he’s listening to Ava talk about how great and _fun_ it is just to give in and enjoy killing people and then her neck is snapped right there before his very eyes.

They’re down to two.

Where the hell is Dean.

When Jake says he had a vision and that only one of them is getting out alive, Sam tries his best to convince him that there’s hope. If there’s one thing Sam’s good at, it’s finding the light at the end of the tunnel and helping other people see it, too. He thinks he’s done it when they drop their weapons, but then Jake is attacking him and he’s so fucking strong and Sam feels like he doesn’t stand a chance but then he’s got Jake on the ground and he could kill him, he could do it if he wanted to, he really could just—

He drops his weapon and hears Dean’s voice, and he can’t tell yet if it’s real. He still doesn’t know—he has no idea if the Dean holding him now—the one telling him it’s not that bad, I’m going to take care of you, it’s my job to take care of my pain in the ass little brother, it’s OK, it’s all right, Sammy—he doesn’t know if he’s real.

Then everything stops.

 

* * *

 

No.

No. No. No.

No.

Sam’s on a table, Dean doesn’t remember the last time he ate, he’s lost track of the number of beers he’s had. Bobby’s suggesting they bury Sam, and what? Why would they do that? Not yet, not yet. They need more time, they can’t do this. Dean’s yelling at Bobby and he doesn’t know what he’s saying and Bobby’s scared and Dean’s never seen him like this. 

Dean doesn’t care, he doesn’t care that the world’s coming to an end, he doesn’t care that he fucked everything up, he doesn’t care. The only thought that makes sense is _Sam, Sammy, no, Sam._

“You know, when we were little, you couldn’t have been more than 5—you just started asking questions…I begged you, quit asking, Sammy. You don’t want to know. I wanted you to be a kid for just a little while longer. I always wanted to protect you, keep you safe. Dad didn’t even have to tell me. It was just always my responsibility. I—I had one job, and I…I fucked it up, Sammy. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I guess that’s just what I do. I let people down. I let Dad down, and now I’m letting you down and…I’m sorry. I’m sorry I always fuck up and I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you better when we were kids. I was broken—I could barely even take care of myself. God—I didn’t know what I was doing then, I still don’t know what I’m doing now. I’m broken, Sammy. I’ve…I’ve done too much wrong. And all the people I’ve saved, helped—it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. I’ve fucked up too much. I couldn’t do what Dad asked, and I couldn’t protect you and— 

“What am I supposed to do? Sammy, _what am I supposed to do?”_

The answer comes to him suddenly and without question. He doesn’t care that it’s not logical, doesn’t care that he’s felt guilty for the past year over his dad making the same decision, he just doesn’t care at all.

The crossroads demon is beautiful and disgusting and Dean wants nothing less than to kiss her stone cold face. Dean argues and bargains and almost doesn’t make a deal at all, but then she offers him one single year and he fucking takes it without hesitating.

He’s worthless anyway. Not like his life matters. He’ll consider this repayment for the fact that his dad was supposed to live instead of him.

Sammy’s alive.

Dean completely forgets about the deal because Sammy’s alive.

Sammy’s alive and they have a demon to kill.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Dean/Victor, homophobic language, people saying bad things about Dean (as usual).

Dean has one year to live. Sam hasn’t quite wrapped his head around this. One year. There’s no way he’s going to let this happen. No way in hell.

Sam can’t help but laugh at their past selves for believing they would be done for good after Yellow Eyes was dead. Now there’s hundreds of demons ready to stage a showdown on earth at any time, but Sam’s finding it hard to focus on anything other than figuring out how to get Dean out of his deal.

Honestly though, Sam’s not even sure Dean’s going to make it an entire year at the rate he’s going. Dean’s had sex with pretty much everybody who’s made eye contact with him in the past few weeks. Sam’s still trying to get used to it, and he’s already accidentally walked in on a girl eating Dean out, a guy fucking him on the floor, and a drag queen handcuffing him to the bed and gagging him. A few days ago Sam watched him leave the bar with a group of five other people, and they all seemed like the “orgy type” if that’s even a thing. Dean had shown up at the motel the next morning with a ripped shirt, limping and reeking of weed. 

“Don’t even ask, dude,” he had said hoarsely, and Sam acquiesced.

As if the sex wasn’t bad enough, Dean’s eating habits have somehow gotten even worse. Sam’s keeping track of how many cheeseburgers he’s eaten, and it’s an average of about two and a half per day. It’s really only a matter of time before Dean’s body gives up on him and shuts down completely.

Sam’s trying his very best to treat his brother nicely and give him the benefit of the doubt and let him have fun during his last year, but it’s getting harder and harder with each passing day. He’s going to do whatever the hell it takes to save Dean, but Dean’s acting like he doesn’t even care to be saved. He seems hopeless and careless, and it’s pissing Sam off because they’ve got a lot of serious shit going on and the word _apocalyptic_ has been thrown around one time too many to not be taken seriously.

Their first big challenge is the seven deadly sins, and the only thing they really accomplish against them is realizing just how outmatched and outnumbered they are. In fact, Sam probably would’ve been killed had it not been for some blonde chick showing up out of nowhere with a knife that can kill demons. Hopefully they’ll be able to figure out soon what the hell _that_ was all about.

It’s not until after they’ve burned the bodies and left Bobby that they discuss where to go and what to do next. It’s here that Sam loses it.

“I’ve had it. I’ve been bending over backwards trying to be nice to you, and I don’t care anymore.”

“That didn’t last long.”

“You know what, I’ve been busting my ass trying to keep you alive, and you act like you couldn’t care less. You got some kind of death wish or something?”

“It’s not like that. Sam—”

“Then what’s it like, Dean? I’m sick of this bullshit. At the rate you’re going, hellhounds won’t even have to come collect your body. I swear, I wouldn’t be surprised if I found you dead next week in the middle of a fucking orgy. Seriously, Dean.” Sam’s voice falters. “It’s like you’re…suicidal.” 

Dean’s eyes turn hard then, and Sam thinks he’s seriously fucked up. “You done?”

“Yeah, I’m done.” Sam turns to get in the car, but Dean grabs his arm and pulls him back around. 

“We trap the crossroads demon, trick it, try to welch our way out of the deal in any way—you die. Those are the terms. You die. And so help me, god, if you try to do anything, _I’m_ going to stop you. You got that?”

Sam can’t remember the last time he was this pissed at Dean. To put Sam through this—to bring him back like this and let him live with the guilt of knowing that he’s going to be responsible for Dean’s death—it’s the most selfish, hypocritical thing Dean’s ever done and as counterintuitive as it would be, Sam could kill him for it.

The worst part is that Dean doesn’t fucking care. Sam can yell at him all he wants about how horrible it was of him to make that deal, and Dean will just take it, say, “I know, I’m OK with it,” smile and move on like it just doesn’t matter at all. The way he says he feels _entitled_ to make this decision because of everything he’s done for their family is a fucking lie. Dean’s lying and they both know it. He didn’t do it because he thinks he deserves to make one selfish decision.

He did it because he’s a self-sacrificing asshole who has no idea how to function with Sam dead. He did it because he views himself as worthless, so why would Sam even care if he dies? 

He did it because he doesn’t even like being alive all that much anyway.

 

* * *

 

When Dean was about 20 years old, he went on a road trip by himself while his dad and Sammy handled a banshee case in Orlando. He was supposed to go through five states in five days. Instead, he met Lisa Braeden.

The truth about the road trip is that Dad had told Dean that he needed some time and some space, and Dean had complied because he was embarrassed and sick of his dad’s bullshit anyway.

There was a boy at Sam’s school, a senior, who saw Dean waiting to pick Sammy up one day and came over to ask about the car. His name was Paarth. He was slight and jittery, and there was not a hint of hesitation in his voice when he locked his big, brown eyes on Dean and asked if he had a pen so he could write his phone number on his hand. Sam didn’t notice or care that Dean started picking him up every day instead of every other day. He didn’t even ask on the days when Dean wasn’t in the car waiting on him when he got out of school. Dean would be tucking his shirt in or zipping up his pants as he walked back to the Impala from the gym, and Sam would just roll his eyes and turn up the music. He probably thought Dean was hooking up with one of the cheerleaders or something.

It was a Saturday, and Sam was studying at a friend’s house while Dad was pretending to be a fed in a town nearby. Dean was on his knees giving Paarth a blow job when the door of the apartment opened and his dad’s voice nearly shook the floor. Dean never heard from Paarth again, and his dad couldn’t look him in the eye for a week. Sure, his dad was trying, and he actually wasn't nearly as bad as Dean expected, but the shame was still real and painful. 

Dean should’ve been with Dad and Sam hunting a banshee in Florida, but his dad was adamant about splitting up. They had to uproot again anyway, so it was the perfect time to get away for a while. Dean understood. He understood that his dad couldn’t stand the sight of him. Sure, he only acted a _little_ freaked when Dean came out the year before, but knowing your son likes men and actually seeing your son fucking one are two totally different things. So Dean got away for a while.

Meeting Lisa felt like a divine apology for losing Paarth.

“Excuse me, ma’am, I think you dropped this.”

“Oh! Oh, thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

Lisa took the compact from Dean and they shared shy smiles as their hands touched. It was like a scene from a fucking romcom.

“I’m Lisa. And you are?”

“Dean. It’s nice to meet you, Lisa." 

“You, too, Dean. I’ll see you around.” Lisa touched Dean on the upper arm and slipped a business card in his hand before walking away.

 _Smooth_ , Dean thought as he looked down at the card and learned that Lisa is a fucking yoga instructor. _Fuck._

He was going to call her, he really was, but then he ran into one of his dad’s hunting buddies and the guy insisted they go out for drinks.

Dean was three fingers of whiskey and two beers in when he started feeling like he should try to get laid at some point. He started flirting with a couple of guys over by the pool tables before he remembered that he should play it straight around his dad’s friend. That, and this bar probably isn’t a safe place to look openly gay. The guys were nice enough, but Dean's not going to take that risk. The first girl turned him down immediately, and Dean was pretty sure it was because she saw him talking to guys before her. He was in the process of getting turned down by a second girl when he made eye contact with Lisa, who was sitting on the end of the bar twirling her straw in a margarita. She gave Dean a small wave, and he nearly tripped over himself trying to make his way over to her.

“Not having much luck tonight, are you?” she teased as soon as he took a seat next to her.

“Yeah, well, girls don’t really want to go home with a guy they think is gay, do they?”

Lisa raised her eyebrows but didn’t seem fazed. “Then why not go home with a guy? The ones playing pool seemed interested.”

“I’m here with my dad’s friend. Don’t really want to out myself tonight, you know? And I’m not sure it’s safe.”

“Then come home with me.” 

“You don’t even know me. I could be dangerous or something.” 

“Oh, you’re definitely dangerous.” Lisa finished her martini before continuing. “You’re from out of town, you’re not picky about who you go home with, and you give girls their stuff back when they drop it. I’m 21 years old and I’m alone in a bar on a Thursday. I’m clearly looking for someone just like you, Dean.”

Dean just about choked on air before he answered, “Well let’s get out of here then,” and took Lisa’s hand.

It wasn’t until later that Dean realized that was the first time he came out to someone without being coerced.

Lisa didn’t waste much time, either. She was all over Dean in the elevator up to her loft, and Dean could barely blink before his clothes were strewn on her floor. For a 20-year-old, Dean was pretty damn experienced in the sex department, but Lisa was on a whole other level. It was either step up his game or go home early with a broken limb. Luckily Dean’s a fast learner.

Still, Dean woke up on the first morning unable to move until midday. Lisa took care of him and gave him different things to relieve his soreness, and she was so sincere about it that Dean didn’t even feel ashamed.

“I just want to make sure you’re ready for round two tonight,” she said at one point, and Dean realized then that he was screwed.

Fuck his road trip—he’d stay with Lisa for as long as she’d let him.

She was straddling his lap and rubbing circles into his shoulders when Dean asked, “It doesn’t bother you that I’m into guys?” 

Lisa smiled so sweetly that Dean could feel warmth bloom in his chest before she even spoke. “You’re also very clearly into girls, too, so why would it bother me?”

“I don’t know, it just usually…does.”

Lisa’s hands stopped against his skin. “I’m sorry, Dean. The world’s going to get more accepting over time, I promise. At least people have stopped viewing it as a mental illness,” she said rather bitterly.

 _Not all people,_ Dean thought with a shudder. “I know. It helps that I can pass as straight, but, uh…that really sucks. It’s not very fun.”

Lisa ran a hand through Dean’s hair. “I can’t imagine." 

“I’m glad I met you.”

“I’m glad I met you, too.”

 

It’s been nearly nine years, and there's no way Dean’s going to pass up this opportunity to see Lisa again. When he shows up at her house unannounced, part of him believes it’s going to be like last time. She’s going to yank him in the door, kiss him hard and then they’re going to be holed up in her room for the next 24 hours. 

Instead, she seems apprehensive about him being there, and she tells him he came at a bad time. Not one to be disappointed that easily, Dean stays positive and agrees to come inside for whatever party Lisa’s having. 

He’s more than a little shocked when he sees Ben, who’s turning 8 and has eerily similar interests as Dean.

Shit.

But Lisa claims he’s not Dean’s, and Dean believes her not just because he doesn’t need that responsibility in his life but also because he trusts Lisa implicitly. Not that he would have much time to worry about it anyway, since there actually is a case in this town that he and Sam need to figure out.

It’s changelings. They’re taking the place of children in the town and feeding off their mothers. Ben might not be his, but that doesn’t mean Dean isn’t absolutely terrified for Lisa and her son. It’s rare that he feels this emotionally involved in a case, and he hopes he doesn’t fuck everything up. That would not be a good conclusion for him and the girl who accepted him for who he is during a time when nobody did.

Dean feels better than he has in a long time when he returns Lisa’s son to her arms. Yeah, it turns out he’s actually disappointed that the kid isn’t his, but it’s not like he could’ve done anything about it anyway. It just…would’ve been nice to leave a mark on this earth other than his car. Would have been nice to live long enough to settle down and have a family of his own.

When Lisa tells Dean he can stay for a while, he wants nothing more than to say yes. Lisa is safety and warmth and beauty and pleasure and everything Dean doesn’t deserve.

“I can’t. I got a lot of work to do, and it’s not my life.”

Dean leaves before Lisa can say anything else.

 

* * *

 

They find out Ruby’s a demon, and Sam wants to accept her help to get Dean out of his deal. That of course causes a few big fights between Sam and Dean, but they’re soon distracted from it by the misfortune of a rabbit’s foot nearly killing Sam, and a dick named Bela Talbot threatening to finish him off. It’s a shitty week for Sam.

There’s a couple strange deaths in Ohio, and while they’re settling down in their motel Dean runs into a guy he knows, who happens to be staying in the room across the hall.

“Richie? I don’t believe it,” Dean says with a laugh, and Sam just _knows._

But he’s not going to say anything. If Dean wants to reveal the nature of his and Richie’s past, he will. If not, then whatever.

Richie doesn’t seem to remember Dean as much as Dean remembers Richie, and when a beautiful prostitute walks out of Richie’s room, Sam tries not to dwell on how Dean’s face falters. 

Fuck. How many sleazy men have made Dean feel like the garbage he believes he is. Sam could rip that smug smile right off Richie’s dumb face.

Sam can’t help himself and ends up asking, “How do you two know each other?”

“You were in school,” is the only information Dean offers, but Richie’s more talkative. 

He claims he killed a succubus, and Dean quickly corrects him and goes on to chastise him for not being cut out for this job. It’s eerily similar to speeches Dean gave Sam when he was a teenager. Apparently Dean acts like a big brother independent of being around his little brother, and the thought makes Sam smile.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Dean finishes saying, but Richie’s not taking him seriously.

“That’s not what you said later that night,” he responds secretively, and Sam feels like he might barf. 

“C’mon, dude, really? In front of my brother? Let’s keep it PG, please.”

Wow, whatever happened with this guy must’ve been rough if Dean’s actually showing some discretion right now. 

At the bar later, Dean and Richie joke over who's going to take the bartender home, but Sam feels an edge of malice in their banter. He thinks there might've been some competition or something between them, but that barely makes sense if they actually slept with each other. It's probably some dumb queer alpha dog crap that Sam will never fully understand (and not because he's straight).

It’s not until after Richie’s dead and they wrap up the case that Sam learns that when they met, Richie wouldn’t give Dean the time of day until he saved his ass. Dean says it was dumb luck that Richie asked him to come home with him and a girl he met at the bar. It was the first threesome Dean partook in, and he felt ashamed afterward. To this day he thinks the girl wouldn’t agree to go home with Richie unless Dean came, too. Dean was used, and he didn’t even get any money out of it.

So Sam was wrong. Richie was just too far in the closet to recognize what he could have had with Dean.

Sam’s angry but grateful that Dean was willing to open up to him about it. He knows Dean is upset about Richie’s death, but Sam’s not sorry for his loss.

Dean deserves better than some straight guy with a complex.

 

After a fairy tale case in New York, Sam leaves Dean sleeping in their motel in the middle of the night so he can go meet with the crossroads demon that holds his deal. He points the Colt at her and tells her she can let him out of his deal or die.

“All this tough talk—I have to tell you, it’s not very convincing. I mean, come _on,_ Sam, do you even want to break the deal?”

No, Sam’s not falling for this. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. Aren’t you tired of cleaning up Dean’s messes? Of dealing with that broken psyche of his?”

Sam’s not listening. He won’t sink to her level.

“Admit it: you’re here, going through the motions. But truth is, you’ll be a tiny bit relieved when he’s gone.”

“Shut up.” 

“No more desperate, sloppy, needy Dean. No more worrying about his every move, wondering which stupid decision is going to be the one that turns him in. Oh yeah, and no more wondering what’s _broken_ inside of him to make him the way he is. I mean, prostitution is one thing, but still being _attracted_ to the men using him? _Enjoying_ it while they use him like a toy? How fucked up do you have to _be_ , Sam? You need to face the fact that no matter what you do, you can never save Dean. You can never fix him, and you can never save him, and even if I _could_ let him out of his deal, he’s still going to be your biggest disappointment.” 

Sam could shoot her, he could shoot her right now and he wouldn’t care. But that wouldn’t solve anything, so he keeps talking. He keeps pushing, keeps letting her say shit he’d never even dream of thinking.

Once he’s absolutely sure that there’s nothing she can do to break the deal, he shoots her between the eyes and leaves.

 

Dean almost lets himself get killed by a vampire, and Sam watches firsthand how very little his brother values his own life. He wants to talk to Dean about it, but then Gordon shows up and shit hits the fan. 

Gordon is dead set on killing Sam, and it appears he will stop at nothing to accomplish that task. Weirdly, Sam is relieved by this. If Gordon's seeing red, he's going to make mistakes. He's going to be sloppy. He's not going to focus on sexually harassing Dean. The less attention on Dean, the better.

Sure enough, Gordon gets turned, and Dean tries to go track him down by himself. There’s no way in hell Sam’s going to let that happen, even if he has to forcibly keep Dean in the motel himself. The thought of a _vampiric_ Gordon getting his hands on Dean and—no, Sam’s not going to think about what he would do.  _Sam's_ the target he wants, not Dean.

Sam decides he’s had enough of Dean throwing his life away, and he tells him that he knows he’s terrified, and he knows that’s why he’s acting so fucking reckless. He expected Dean to protest, so he’s already got his rebuttal planned.

“I’ve been following you around my entire life. I’ve been looking up to you since I was 4, Dean—studying you, trying to be just like my big brother. So yeah, I know you. Better than anybody else in the entire world. And this is exactly how you act when you’re terrified. I mean, I can’t blame you. It’s just…It’s just I wish you would drop the show and be my brother again.”

Sam doesn’t expect much in response, but he’s surprised when Dean changes his plans and decides not to go after Gordon alone. Dean is a man of action, and that action says more than any words he would’ve said.

So they hole up in their motel and wait. When Gordon calls, Sam can’t hear what he says on the phone, but he can see how Dean’s face goes paper white. Sam imagines he’s making advances on Dean or threatening him or something, and that makes Sam absolutely livid. He’s fairly sure he knows in what manner Gordon would try to turn Dean, and the thought makes him sick to his stomach.

It’s a strange sort of righteous pleasure that pulses through Sam when he wraps the wire around Gordon’s neck and pops his head clean off.

He’s feeling pretty good when they get on the road later and stop because of a rattling noise in the hood of the Impala. The normalcy of sitting here drinking beer and passing tools to Dean while he fixes the car makes Sam feel content for the first time in a long time. His mood turns somber pretty fast, however, when Dean starts teaching him how to fix the car and tells him he’s going to have to know how to take care of her soon.

This is real. Dean is dying, and it’s real. There’s nothing they can do about it. 

 

They celebrate Christmas for the first time since they were kids, and Sam thinks it’s the best Christmas he’s ever had despite the fact that it's Dean's last.

 

* * *

 

Dean wants to believe Ruby. When she tells him that all demons used to be humans, and that she was able to remember her humanity for several centuries, he wants to trust her. He wants to believe it’s possible for him not to turn evil. If his soul could stay…intact, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

He finds Sammy in a bar barely after lunchtime, seemingly drunk off his ass and trying to pass it off as something Dean himself would do. (“Maybe I’ll even take home a dude, who knows?”) It’s at this point Dean realizes his brother has lost all semblance of hope.

Before he can dwell too long on that or try to talk some sense into his brother, Dean gets a call from Philadelphia saying that Bobby’s in a coma.

God, can they get a break for just two seconds?

They’ve never dealt with dreams before, but hey, first time for everything. Getting African dream root from Bela wouldn’t usually be Dean’s first choice, but they don’t really have any other options. It takes some coercing once they’re inside Bobby’s head, but they manage to get him to wake up.

It turns out the kid responsible for doing this to Bobby does his work using DNA from his victims.

And of course, when Dean interviewed him, he stupidly accepted a beer from the guy. Sam and Bobby chastise him for it, but he decides against outing himself to Bobby with the excuse _he’s cute and he flirted with me and it’s been a long time since I slept with a guy younger than me, so yeah, I accepted his beer._ Yeah, he’ll just have to live with Sam and Bobby calling him an idiot.

Forty-nine hours. Dean stays awake for 49 hours before he decides he can't do this shit anymore. The only way to catch this guy is in his sleep, so damn it, he’s going to sleep. The fact that Sammy is coming along for the ride is extremely nerve-racking, but whatever. Dean doesn’t have the willpower to argue.

He immediately regrets his decision to let Sam inside his head. He’s screwed the moment he sees Lisa sitting there waiting for him.

A woman who loves him, who accepts him for who he is, who never judged him no matter what he said or did. A kid he could call his own. A home, a family, safety, comfort—these are all the things Dean never lets himself think about because then he has to face how very much he wants them. She disappears, and Dean can't help but feel disappointed. Can't even have what he wants in his dreams.

Sam and Dean get separated while chasing down the kid, and Dean of course, as he fucking expected, runs into himself. At least Sammy’s not here for _this._

“I get it. I’m my own worst nightmare.”

“You can joke all you want, smartass, but I’m you. You can’t lie to me. I know how dead you are inside, how worthless you feel. I know that when you look in the mirror, you hate what you see. Every indiscretion’s right there on your face, Dean. Everything about you is fucked up. Hell, you don’t even know if your gender’s right, so what the fuck do you think you’re doing making decisions that affect Sammy? How could you _possibly_ be right about anything with how broken and twisted you are? At this rate, hell will be an improvement.”

As usual, Dean responds with cockiness and false bravado to cover up the fact that he's dying inside. Except it doesn’t work. The other Dean doesn’t disappear. They’re locked in here together.

Dean loses it once the imposter starts going on about his dad. _Blunt little instrument, blunt little instrument, blunt little instrument_ chants through his mind until he feels like he might suffocate.

He’s hitting himself and he’s hurting himself and he’s yelling and it all feels _so good._

“Dad was an obsessed bastard! All that crap he dumped on me about protecting Sam, that was _his_ crap! _I_ took care of Sammy—he never did! He wasn’t there for Sam, I always was! I did what I had to do to take care of my family, and that’s more than I can say for him. It’s not my fucking fault that I wasn’t born _normal,_ not my fault that I like what I like. I didn’t deserve all the shit I went through and all the people who used me, and I didn’t deserve all the shit my dad put on me! I didn’t deserve to be neglected and ignored and treated like a problem and left to figure everything out on my own, and I don’t deserve to go to hell!”

Dean feels empty when he sees the bullets going into his own chest. 

Then he's looking into his own black eyes, and he's never been more terrified.

“You can’t escape me, Dean. You’re going to die, and this—this is what you’re going to become.”

It’s a little bittersweet when Dean wakes up and realizes that wasn’t the worst nightmare he’s ever had.

 

* * *

 

It’s Tuesday. Again. For the 37th day in a row.

Dean dies before they even make it to the restaurant this morning.

48.

Dean dies eating a taco.

63. 

Dean dies choking on air.

71. 

Dean dies after a guy calls him a fag and Dean punches him in the face and the guy pulls out a gun.

80.

Dean dies eating breakfast.

94.

Dean dies tripping over his own feet.

112.

A man in the restaurant eats the wrong syrup on his pancakes.

113.

The trickster reveals himself.

1.

Wednesday. Heat of the Moment isn’t playing. Dean’s alive. They’re out.

There’s a gunshot. Sam runs outside and finds his brother bleeding out on the concrete.

Sam doesn’t wake up this time.

Time doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters, not really. Sam eats and sleeps and drives and kills monsters, but mostly the only thing he ever even thinks about is finding the trickster and ripping his goddamn throat out. He would do anything to get his brother back. Anything.

He doesn’t even hesitate when Bobby says they need a gallon of human blood to summon the trickster. He’ll get it, and he won’t even blink. He’s mostly machine now anyway, so what does it matter if he kills somebody?

Sam feels like he’s lived a hundred lifetimes and then some when he finally meets the trickster again. He’s so broken and empty that he’s not above falling to his knees and groveling.

_Take me back, take me back to Wednesday, take me back to Wednesday, I have to get back to Wednesday._

The trickster tries to tell Sam that this is just what life is like with Dean in hell. He tells him there’s nothing he can do to save Dean, and his obsession with getting him back is pointless. He tells Sam everything he already knows.

“Dean’s your weakness. Bad guys know it, too. It’s going to be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes, you got to just let Dean go.”

Never. Sam can’t let Dean go. He’s more important to him than anything or anybody else in the world, and he won’t let him go.

And then it’s Wednesday again. Sam sees Dean for the first time in what? A year? More? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t even care about the trickster. Doesn’t care that he’s still out there somewhere getting away with this. Dean is solid and breathing in front of him and nothing else matters.

Later, he briefly wonders how long it’s going to take him to remember that he can no longer be capable of murdering an innocent person in cold blood. How long is it going to take to feel human again?

 

* * *

 

Sexual tension is a thing Dean wishes he could turn on and off at the flip of a switch. There’s just some people he _shouldn’t_ have sexual tension with, and it really gets in the way when it’s so completely unnecessary.

Case in point: Victor Henriksen. Sure, it helped to flirt with him and mess with him when he and Sam _needed_ to be arrested a year ago, but now he’s on the floor of Bela Talbot’s hotel room looking up at Henriksen’s smug face and wondering how the fuck he’s going to weasel his way out of this one. The boner is definitely not helping. 

Sam and Dean are chained together and sitting on an uncomfortable bed in the tiniest cell Dean’s ever seen when Victor shows up looking like he’s won.

“You know what I’m trying to decide?”

All right, time to put on an act, Winchester. “I don’t know, what? Whether Cialis will help with your little condition?" 

Henriksen ignores him. “What to have for dinner tonight—steak or lobster. Surf and turf. What the hell. I mean, I’ve got a lot to celebrate—I mean, after all, seeing you two in chains?”

“You kinky son of a bitch, we don’t swing that way.” Dean can tell Sam is mentally rolling his eyes beside him, but whatever. He’s playing the game, and Sam needs to join in or shut his mind up.

“That’s funny.” Henriksen’s smile drops and then he gives Dean a _look_ and Dean’s heart stops for a second. It seems the sexual tension is not one-sided.

Henriksen goes on to describe the cell they’re going to end up in and how horrible it's all going to be, but that’s not what gets to Sam and Dean.

“Your daddy brainwashed you and no doubt touched you in a bad place.”

Dean has to stomp on Sam’s foot to stop him from reacting. “Why don’t you shut your mouth?” Dean says seriously, and of course Henriksen keeps going.

“Oh, I know you, Dean. I’ve heard a story or two, and I got to say—they aren’t pretty. You are a piece of _work,_ and I’m not even talking about all the murder.”

“You should stop talking now,” Sam says surprisingly calmly, and Dean believes for a second that his brother might kill this guy right through the bars.

Seriously, it’s really not helping that Dean’s turned on right now.

It’s also not really a surprise when the demons show up. Sam and Dean are already fucked as it is, so why not add demons to the mix? No big deal.

It actually turns out to be somewhat of a blessing when Henriksen gets possessed. Yeah, it’s horrible that he killed the sheriff, but there’s bound to be some casualties when there’s no telling who’s a demon and who isn’t. And at least now the agent will believe them.

They’re in the middle of warding the place when Victor comes up to Dean and says quietly, “I can’t believe you weren’t lying.” 

“Well, I lied a _little.”_

“Excuse me? Is that a confession I’m hearing?”

“No, sir.” Dean turns so his face is mere inches from Victor’s. “I meant I was lying about not swinging that way.”

Victor looks shocked before a smile spreads across his face. “You know, you’ve been making it particularly difficult to maintain my image as a straight man.”

Dean wasn’t really expecting that. “Gay?”

“As the day is long.”

Dean moves impossibly close to Victor so that he can press his erection against his leg. “Maybe if we make it out of here alive I can suck your dick or something.”

“Wow. So romantic.” He wraps an arm around Dean’s lower back and pulls him even closer. “But yeah, I’m going to take you up on that." 

Sam clears his throat loudly from behind them, and they jump apart. Victor looks horrified, but Dean just winks while Sam rolls his eyes.

“Ruby’s here to help,” he says, and now Dean’s the one rolling his eyes. 

They come up with a game plan that goes completely against what Ruby wants to do, but they believe it’s going to save more lives. It actually goes pretty well, and they leave the police station on good terms.

Victor promises to make up a story about their deaths so that nobody will come looking for them again, then he shakes their hands and pulls Dean in for a kiss after Sam’s started walking to the door. 

Dean’s always loved full lips, and he’s pretty sure he could drown in Henriksen’s. He tries to reach forward for more, but he’s stopped.

“Get out of here,” Victor whispers before patting Dean’s cheek and stepping away from him. 

Dean really hopes it's not the last time he runs into him. 

Less than 24 hours later, they’re watching the pictures of all the people they saved flash across the television screen while a reporter lists the names of the dead. Everyone they saved. Not a single person made it out.

Dean wants nothing more than to serve Lilith’s head on a platter.

 

* * *

 

Sam notices that Dean’s nightmares have become more frequent, but he doesn’t bring it up. He can guess what they’re about.

There’s an immortal guy in Erie, Pennsylvania, who turns out to be harvesting people’s organs to stay alive. Sam decides that’s probably not the best way to keep Dean alive.

They don’t help Bela out of her deal. She dies, and they barely regret it at all. Sam’s not even the least bit curious what her deal was about.

Thirty hours remain. Dean has 30 hours.

Thirty hours.

They take the knife from Ruby.

Dean starts hallucinating. He can see demons’ true faces now, and Sam can’t imagine how terrifying that must be for him. 

They find Lilith in a white suburban neighborhood in Indiana. She’s a little girl, and she’s holding her family hostage. She’s already killed a couple of them when they arrive. Sam’s never been so freaked in all his life.

He gets close. The girl is in bed with her mom, and Sam could easily pierce her heart. Fortunately, Dean shows up and tells him in time that Lilith has moved on and is no longer inside the little girl. 

It’s Ruby. Lilith has taken over Ruby’s body and her hellhounds show up and Sam watches as his brother is ripped apart by invisible creatures and there’s not a fucking thing he can do about it.

Lilith can’t kill Sam. But it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter. 

He couldn’t save Dean.

He couldn’t save Dean.

He couldn’t save Dean.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-season 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for super gross things that happened in hell.

“We’re not burning his body.”

“Sam—”

“No. I’m not doing it, Bobby. That’s final.”

Sam’s quiet for so long that Bobby’s not sure how to proceed. It’s way too reminiscent of how Dean behaved when Sam died, and Bobby is just as ill equipped to deal with it now as he was then. He’s scared of Sam and what he might do, but he can’t let Sam know that. He’s got to be strong for him even though all he wants to do is lock himself in his cellar and drink until he forgets who Dean is.

“He’s going to need a body when I get him back home.”

Sam’s talking so quietly that Bobby nearly misses what was said. Once it processes, he doesn’t know how to respond. 

Bobby has no idea how to help Sam mourn, and Sam’s not saying anything at all now. They bury Dean’s body in silence, and then Sam takes off.

Bobby calls and calls, but nothing.

He mourns Dean’s death alone in his house with a bottle of Dean’s favorite whiskey. Goddamn it, the boy was only 30 years old. Never even had the courage to come out to him. Never let anybody share his burden. Goddamn it.

 

* * *

 

Sam’s been here before. The last time he lost Dean, he knew exactly who he needed to find to get him back. The last time he lost Dean, all he had to do was get back to Wednesday. The last time he lost Dean, he lost himself, too. He doesn't know what's going to happen this time.

The first few days are a blur. He remembers arguing with Bobby about burning Dean’s body, and he remembers winning the argument, but he doesn’t remember actually putting Dean in the ground. He drives nearly 100 miles before he starts to question if Dean really did die. 

_Didn’t I just leave him in Pontiac? Was he working a case or something? I should probably turn around. Or at least call him._

He's pulling off on the side of the road and trying to turn around when it hits him that no, Dean is not on a separate case back in Pontiac. Dean is dead.

He starts drinking, and reality gets even blurrier. There are days he doesn’t get out of bed, and there are days he spends hours calling crossroads demons and begging on his hands and knees for Dean’s life. He’s forcibly kissed at least seven of them now, and during moments of lucidity he wonders how many deals he’s actually made. Hellhounds could come for him tomorrow and he'd have no idea.

He doesn’t care. 

Ruby shows up, and Sam doesn’t have it in him to turn her away. He’s desperate and would accept help from a rock if it offered.

“I have to do _what?”_

“You would’ve gotten this by now if you could stay sober for five minutes. I said that you need to drink my blood, Sam.” 

He can feel the mixed bag of different liquors trying to climb back up his throat at the idea, but he holds it down. “What the hell is _that_ going to accomplish?”

“It’ll make you strong. Strong enough to kill Lilith. Sam, you have to listen to me. It’s your only hope of getting your brother back.” 

Sam excuses himself to go to the bathroom and vomits up everything in his stomach. He looks in the mirror and has no idea who’s looking back at him. Sure, yeah, demon blood. Sounds like a good idea.

Sam closes his eyes and plugs his nose the first time. Ruby had insisted sobriety for this, but if it were up to Sam he’d be blackout drunk right now. Ruby smears a drop of blood onto his hand and he licks tentatively.

It’s the most incredible thing Sam’s ever put in his mouth.

 

* * *

 

 _“So. Winchester. You ready to throw in the towel?”_

_“Eat a dick, Alastair.”_

_“Didn’t I already do that today? My memory's a little dim, but you sure_ look _sufficiently castrated.”_

_Dean can’t really focus. He’s losing blood from every orifice in his body and then some, and he’s being stretched in every direction and knows his body is minutes away from snapping apart just like it does every other day._

_“Come on, Dean. The promotion comes with a fancy new whip. And a barbed cock you can stick wherever you want.”_

_“You know where I’d stick it.”_

_“Oooh, kinky, Dean. Oh but I forgot…you’re more of a receptacle, aren’t you? Would you prefer I get you a barbed asshole instead? Just imagine how nice that blood would feel filling you up on every thrust. Experiencing all the pleasure of it and none of the pain…soaking in the sounds of the other person’s screams…”_

_Dean loses consciousness._

_Snap._

_Repeat._

_On day 10,961, Dean says yes._

_He sticks to the non-sexual torture and that’s the only thing keeping him sane. It feels_ righteous _to tear apart body after body on the rack day after day, and some of them are downright grateful to him for not raping them. Covered in blood to the point of being unrecognizable, limbs broken, every part of their body swollen or bruised—with blood and guts pouring out of their mouths on every word, they spit out, “Thank you, thank you, thank you for not touching me there. Thank you for being merciful.”_

_Dean tells them to shut the fuck up. He has a reputation to uphold, and Alastair won’t be happy if he thinks Dean isn’t being hard enough. Alastair doesn’t have to know that Dean’s heart breaks with every blow he makes. He doesn’t have to know that he’s completely ignoring the carnal, demonic urge to rape every person he hangs up on the rack. He doesn’t have to know._

_On day 11,602, Dean throws a woman onto the rack and is just about to start on her with a pair of pliers when she speaks._

_“You already got promoted? My god, they haven’t even offered me the option yet. How did you do it, Dean?”_

_He would recognize that accent anywhere. He drops his pliers. “Bela.”_

_“In the flesh. Well, sort of. Oh my god, are you the Dean everyone’s talking about?”_

_“What?”_

_“Oh, you haven’t heard the rumors then. You’re quite the celebrity, Dean.”_

_“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean picks up his knife and starts sharpening it so that nobody gets suspicious that he’s not doing his job._

_Bela understands what he’s doing and lets out a scream before responding in a whisper, “You’re the only one who doesn’t rape your victims. A few people say it’s because when you were alive you were a hooker. I think it’s just because you can’t get it up.”_

_Dean rolls his eyes. “Whatever. As long as Alastair doesn’t find out.”_

_“Oh. You actually were a hooker, then? I always thought there was something funny about you.”_

_“I don’t see how this is any of your business.”_

_“I just assumed you were gay, I didn’t realize there was more to it.”_

_“Bisexual.” Why is he telling her this. What does this matter._

_“Really? Couldn’t pick a team? Can’t blame you, I guess. People are so awful, maybe having more to choose from is the way to go.”_

_Bela’s been here a year or so longer than Dean, but she seems so unaffected by this place he can’t help but stare at her for a minute._

_“What? Trying to figure out what to do with me?”_

_“What did you do, Bela? Why’d you make the deal?”_

_“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she mocks._

_“I’m just trying to figure out how you’re still exactly the way you were on earth.”_

_“I could say the same for you.”_

_“Yeah, ‘cause I tortured so many people when I was topside.”_

_“Could’ve had_ me _fooled.” Bela smiles at Dean and a chill runs down his spine. He suddenly feels like the one being tortured. “You going to tear me apart or what? Go ahead, Dean. You don’t really have a choice.”_

_As much as he hates Bela, as evil as he thinks she is, it’s still the hardest thing he’s ever done to rip her apart and listen as each maniacal laugh turns into a scream._

_At the end of the day, when she’s just about to die, she spits a mouthful of blood at Dean’s feet and says stoically, “My parents were abusive. I had no other choice. I’m sorry you were a slave to sex. I might’ve treated you differently on earth had I known everything.”_

_Bela’s body is crushed to nothing before Dean can answer._

_Repeat._

_On day 14,537, there’s a bright light and a warm, crushing weight from all sides. Dean falls unconscious and wakes up in a box._

 

* * *

“Jimmy! Dinner’s ready!”

“Coming, sweetie.” 

Jimmy closes his laptop and heads downstairs. He’s more tired today than usual, but his wife and daughter will cheer him up fast.

“How was your day, honey?” his wife asks after he’s blessed the food.

“Long. But it’s OK, because I’m here now,” he answers with a smile.

“You work too hard. I wish you’d take a day off.”

“Oh I’ll be fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

They all move into the living room after dinner to watch TV, and Jimmy proves his wife’s point by falling asleep within half an hour. When he wakes up, he’s alone and there’s white static on the screen. 

When he goes to fix it, a horrible screeching sound gets louder and louder until he seizes up and passes out. He wakes up hours later with a pounding headache, but he manages to get upstairs and in bed. He doesn’t hear the noise again. Weird.

The next day at work he hears a slight buzzing in his ear for most of the day, and he gets nothing done. The light in his cubicle goes out, and his computer inexplicably shuts down on him twice. He’s starting to believe the world is out to get him.

After a week, he gets used to the occasional noise, and he starts to think the flickering of lights or glitch in the TV is just his imagination. 

That is, until the following week when an ethereal-sounding voice very distinctly says, “James.” 

“Who’s there?” he asks, panicked, as he turns around and finds that he’s alone in his room.

He checks the closet and the windows and then resumes his reading.

“James Novak.”

“OK seriously, what the heck is going on?”

“My name is Castiel. I’m an angel of the Lord.”

Jimmy sets his book down and scans the room once again. “Yeah, sure you are, pal. I’m calling the police.”

The lights flicker so brightly then that Jimmy has to throw his hands over his eyes.

“I can prove it to you. If you have faith.” 

Jimmy's worried what this thing is capable of doing, so he says, “All right, no need for that—let’s say you _are_ an angel. What are you doing here, talking to me?”

There’s a long buzz before Castiel speaks again. “You’re special, James. You’ve been chosen.” 

“Yeah, what for?”

“To serve as a vessel. My vessel.”

“What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

After Castiel explains, Jimmy decides he wants nothing to do with this even if it _is_ real. When the noise and the weird speaking and the strange anomalies in the room all stop, Jimmy expects for his head to start pounding and for reality to return. Instead, it just feels the same. He’s not sick or hurt or anything. 

Castiel speaks to him again two more times before demonstrating that he's the real deal. He tells Jimmy that there's a mission he has to go on, a heavenly order of the highest importance, but it cannot be accomplished in his true form. Jimmy thinks it's ludicrous to believe an angel would need a human body to complete a heavenly task, but what does he know? He's just an average American who's hearing a voice that he's actually starting to believe. 

The woman who works in the cubicle directly across from Jimmy's has seizures sometimes, and she still hasn't figured out why. They rarely ever happen at work, but one afternoon Jimmy hears the familiar buzzing and then a crash, and he looks over to see the woman on the floor seizing up. It's one of the worst ones he's seen. 

"Touch her on the shoulder," Castiel says very clearly. "It's time I prove myself."

Not really knowing what else to do, Jimmy rushes over to the woman and touches her shoulder. Her seizure immediately stops, and she sits up like nothing happened.

"Oh dear, did I fall?" she asks.

Jimmy swallows and nods and returns to work. It's the last seizure the woman ever has.

When Castiel asks Jimmy to stick his arm in a pot of boiling water two weeks later, he doesn't even question it. He's already healed a handful of people of small ailments, what can hot water possibly do to him? It's incredible. He feels invincible. God is real, and he is at work, and Jimmy gets the privilege of taking part in it in a tangible way. 

His wife is distressed. She wants him to take pills, to go to a therapist, to get his brain checked. But he's never felt better in his entire life. He sees that his wife is upset, but strangely enough he hardly cares. She'll understand soon enough, he believes. Castiel has a task for him, and it's of heavenly significance. 

A few more weeks pass, and Castiel just keeps telling Jimmy to wait.

And then he stops speaking to him completely.

He's standing outside his house yelling at the sky for answers when suddenly the world goes very bright and then very dim. He's only conscious for minutes at a time, and when he is he sees through his own eyes as if they are not his own. He's watching his life on a movie screen but most of the tape is missing. 

God is real, and he's a dick.

 

* * *

 

Dean’s going to be claustrophobic for the rest of his life, but he really couldn’t give a damn right now. He just lived for more than 40 years in hell, and now he’s back on earth. Alive. Body intact. Still just 30 years old. Not a demon. 

He has no fucking idea how, but he doesn’t care. He’s not going to let the crater around his grave worry him. Or the searing handprint on his arm. Or even the horribly loud screeching noise that breaks glass and nearly knocks him unconscious.

No, he isn’t going to worry about any of this because he’s alive and all he needs is food and water and Sammy.

He calls every phone number he can remember. Bobby hangs up on him twice. 

Surprisingly, he’s still pretty good at hotwiring a car, and he makes it to Bobby’s in what feels like no time at all. Readjusting to earth time is going to be weird. Readjusting to everything is going to be weird.

Bobby tries to kill him of course, but it doesn’t take much time after that to convince him he’s _Dean._ Unfortunately Bobby doesn’t know where Sam is or if he’s even alive, and if Bobby were anybody else Dean would punch him in the face for not looking after his little brother. The only thing they know about Sam is that he most likely has something to do with the fact that Dean’s alive, which probably means he’s in a shit ton of trouble.

“You think Sam made a deal?” 

“It’s what I would’ve done.”

 

* * *

 

Being inside of a human body is very strange.

For starters, it’s very small. When you’re accustomed to being eye-level with mountains, this whole 5-foot-11 thing is very unappealing. And unnerving. You feel squashable. 

Second of all, your grace feels like it could bust out at any time. There are so many pores and orifices on the human body, and grace does not appreciate being contained in a vessel that it could so easily escape from.

Third of all, your wings are extremely heavy now. Sure, you adjusted their size to match the human body, but that hardly matters. They are huge and you are small and they outweigh you by at least 100 pounds and it hurts to hunch all the time. You are reminded that you are no longer entirely impervious to human weaknesses. 

Finally, you see things differently now. You have to actually _work_ to see people’s souls, and you find that their faces are…incredibly ordinary. God’s revelation is much weaker here on earth than it is in heaven, so things are less vibrant, less exciting, less _divine._ In heaven, God’s presence is strong and all-consuming, and you have no desire other than to worship him. Here, you’re already doubting the whole “omnipresent” thing he claims.

The first human you see is James Novak’s daughter, and she looks so different from the souls in heaven that you can’t help but be disappointed. How do humans find beauty in one another when they can’t see each other’s souls plainly?

You are only allowed a single week to adjust to life on earth before you are sent to hell. You spend the majority of that week learning that here on earth, God exists in the small things more than the big things. You watch a bee colony harvest honey for two days straight. You find a garden and pull out every weed by hand and smell every type of flower. You feel God’s revelation a little more clearly, but you still have doubts. You sit on a park bench for 17 hours and take note of how the birds interact with one another. You decide that birds are dumb creatures. On your last day you’re calculating the sensations of swinging on a swing set when a boy with an ice cream cone sits on the swing next to you. This is the first time you talk to a human since the single sentence you said to Claire Novak.

“Are you all right, sir?”

His voice is one of the more pleasant sounds you’ve heard in the past six days. “My name is Castiel, not sir.”

“Are you all right, Castiel?”

“If by ‘all right,’ you mean am I in good health and content of spirit, then yes, I am all right." 

The boy’s brow pinches together, and this is how you learn the best way to express confusion.

“You’re kind of weird.”

“Everything is weird.”

A woman with dark hair like James Novak’s calls, “Ben! We have to go!” from across the park, and the boy runs off with a wave. 

In the following few minutes, you are given the next step in your mission, and you take flight immediately.

You realize in hell that despite your initial assumptions, God’s revelation really _does_ exist on earth and quite brightly. Because now that you’re in hell, you can feel exactly what it is like to have no revelation of God whatsoever. If he _is_ omnipresent, then he is very good about ignoring this place completely.

You think it’s going to be difficult to find the soul you need to rescue, but you spot it almost immediately. It shines so much brighter than anything else in this place that it’s a wonder everyone here hasn’t been blinded. You realize that you must get to this soul not because it is your mission but because you are not going to survive being here if you don’t latch onto something inherently good. Not even your true visage could last in this place for too long, much less this advertisement salesman you are currently housed in. Lucky for you, demons are not too keen on protecting one another, and they barely put up a fight at all to keep you away from your charge. 

You can’t help it when you lay a hand on him. He is warmth and light and the closest thing to godliness in this place, and you grip him far tighter than intended as you lift him back to earth. 

This is the first time you question if God really is the only being worthy of worship. 

Dean Winchester is saved.

 

* * *

 

“Who the fuck’s at the door?”

“How am I supposed to know?” 

“Well go check it.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m not your bitch.”

“Go check, _please?_ Let me get dressed.”

Ruby rolls her eyes and ambles her way to the door of the motel while Sam heads to the bathroom. They had sex pretty much all night, so he’s feeling pretty fucking exhausted right now. They have a big day ahead of them trying to figure out why the hell every demon in America just booked it to Pontiac, and once he fully wakes up Sam's going to be pretty stoked about it.

His whole body goes into shock when he spots who’s at the door. A demon. Has to be a demon. But when he tries to kill it, it claims to really be Dean.

It can’t— 

But it is. 

It’s Wednesday again.

 

* * *

 

Pamela Barnes is beautiful and mysterious and Dean believes she’s the type of girl that could pin him to the floor and fuck him until he cries. He _hopes_ she’s that type of girl.

They’re waiting for her to set everything up in order to talk to the demon that rescued Dean when he sees her squat down and notices a tattoo on her back.

“Who’s Jesse?”

She laughs. “Well, it wasn’t forever.”

“His loss.”

“ _Her_ loss. Might be your gain.”

Dean turns to Sam and whispers, “Dude, I’m so in.”

“Yeah, she’s going to eat you alive.”

“I just got out of jail. Bring it.”

Pamela appears again then and says to Sam, “You’re invited, too, grumpy.”

Dean bounces his eyebrows and winks at Sam seductively before Sam pushes his palm into Dean's face and says, “Ew, Dean, _seriously?”_

They start the ritual a few minutes later, and Dean thinks it’s the weirdest thing he’s ever been a part of (and that includes all the pre-hell orgies he had). 

Pamela starts by saying she needs to touch something the demon touched, and she reaches for Dean’s dick. 

He flinches because the last time he was touched there was...but he composes himself and says, “Not that I would’ve complained, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t touch me there.”

Dean removes his button down and lifts up his sleeve so Pamela can touch the handprint, and then she’s chanting a summoning and within a minute she’s got a name.

Castiel. 

The candles explode. Pamela’s eyes are burned out. The only thing they have is a name.

Sam and Dean are cornered by a handful of demons in a diner, and Dean’s woken up in the middle of the night by the loud screeching and shattering glass again. While walking to Bobby’s car he decides he wants to summon this son of a bitch and get this over with. He lies to Sam about it.

He’s emptying his shotgun into a nondescript white guy he’d probably turn down at a bar when he realizes he’s dealing with something much more powerful than anything he’s ever seen in his life—on earth or in hell.

“Who are you?”

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First half of season 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for nightmares about hell, Dean has pretty bad PTSD.

“Yeah. Thanks for that.”

Dean shoves the knife into the being’s chest with absolute precision. The guy doesn’t even blink.

He takes Bobby out in half a second and tells Dean in an impossibly gruff voice that he needs to talk to him alone.

“Who are you?”

“Castiel.”

“Yeah, I figured that much. I mean what are you?”

Castiel turns his eyes on Dean’s and Dean feels a chill run down his spine. “I’m an angel of the Lord.”

“Get the hell out of here. There’s no such thing.” Seventy years. Relatively speaking, he’s _existed_ for 70 years. He would’ve met an angel before now if they were real.

“This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.”

Gee, really? Of all the problems friends and monsters alike have pointed out to Dean, _that’s_ never made the list. This guy’s whack.

Except then he puffs up his chest and projects his fucking wings onto the wall behind him and Dean’s starting to wonder if he should’ve just stayed in hell. Whatever this thing is, he’s absolutely terrifying.

Castiel tells Dean that he thought he would be special, that he would be able to handle his true form. Dean’s not surprised that he was disappointed.

He’s not buying anything this holy tax accountant’s saying, and he kind of wants to curl up and die when the thing gets right up in his face and asks, “You don’t think you deserve to be saved?” like he’s got Dean figured out in the past three minutes. What a joke.

There has to be a catch. “Why’d you do it?”

The being hesitates, and Dean thinks he might be foregoing his instinctive response in exchange for his planned one. “Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you.”

 

* * *

 

“What else?”

“What else can lift your ass out of the hot box? As far as I can tell, nothing.”

Dean ignores the smirk taking over Sam’s face right now. He doesn’t have time for this.

“Dean, this is good news. I mean, for once this isn’t just another round of demon crap. Maybe you were saved by one of the good guys, you know?”

“OK, say it’s true. Say there are angels. Then what, there’s a _god?”_

“At this point, the biggest money’s on yeah,” Bobby answers.

This is the worst news Dean’s heard in a long time.

“Why me? Why would the god of the universe give a fuck about _me?_ I mean, yeah, I’ve saved some people, and I figured that might make up for the stealing and the sex and the pr—all the other shit I’ve done, but _why me?_ Why do I deserve to be saved? I’m just a regular guy.” A regular guy who’s ten times more fucked up than the average regular guy.

No, the thought of a god giving a shit about Dean is not so much comforting as it is horrifying.

 

* * *

 

They find a hunter dead in his home. It becomes a pattern.

They barely have time to freak out before Sammy sees Victor Henriksen’s ghost in the bathroom of a gas station. Dean luckily gets there in time to blast a round of rock salt through his chest so that he and Sam can get back to Bobby’s house.

Bobby figures out that this phenomenon is something called the rising of the witnesses, and it’s one of the signs of the upcoming apocalypse.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Dean thinks it can’t get worse after Meg Masters shows up and makes him relive all the terrible things he and Sam did to her when she was possessed, but then he’s standing three inches from Victor and his breath hitches in his throat.

“Victor.”

“Dean.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I should’ve known…When I heard about that explosion, I knew I shouldn’t have left you behind. I should’ve protected you. I should’ve asked you to come with me, I should’ve asked you to come back to my place with me, I should’ve—”

“No. You think you left and Lilith came and we all died in a beautiful blast of white light? If only. Forty-five minutes.”

No. No no no. This can’t be real. All those people—Victor—

“I’m so sorry. Victor, I didn’t want—”

Victor cuts Dean off by ripping through his chest to his heart.

“Tell me how it’s fair. You get saved from hell, I die. Why do you deserve another chance, Dean? I knew you were more trouble than you’re worth. Probably not even that good of a lay either.”

Sam shoots him before he can say anything else.

Dean tries not to cry and fails. They could’ve—if they had just—if Dean hadn’t been thinking about his _dick_ for five seconds they could’ve saved those people. He could’ve told Victor to get the fuck out of there instead of trying to kiss him like some needy bitch. He could’ve recognized that there was more going on besides him being rejected.

The only comfort Dean has is that at least he’s running into people he couldn’t save on earth. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if he had seen any of them in hell. Maybe they went somewhere else. Hopefully. Unlikely.

 

* * *

 

Dean wakes up in the middle of the night and sees a silhouette in Bobby’s kitchen. Sam’s asleep next to him, so he can guess who might be standing there.

If Castiel really is an angel, then Dean is nothing short of disappointed. He’s not doing his job, he didn’t explain anything beforehand, he uses the excuse that god works in mysterious ways. And he’s a dick. The only points he’s winning in Dean’s book right now is that he’s got nice hair.

Dean tries to upset him, tries to get a reaction out of him, tries to make him angry enough to fight back—but nothing. The guy is all laidback stoicism, and it’s incredibly unnerving. He’s talking about Lucifer and the fucking apocalypse like it’s as ordinary as the goddamn weather. Dean thinks about punching him in the jaw just to see what kind of response he could get.

But then suddenly the angel is all up in Dean’s personal space, and Dean is as terrified as he felt in that barn in Pontiac. OK, maybe he spoke too soon. Bring back the chill monotone angel, please.

“You think the armies of heaven should just follow you around? There’s a bigger picture here.” Castiel pauses and moves even closer to Dean. “You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of hell, I can throw you back in.”

He disappears out of thin air, and Dean can hear his own heart beating in his ears.

Angels are dicks, sure, but they are frightening as fuck and not in the sexy way.

 

* * *

 

_“Please—please stop. I’m begging you, please. I’m…I can’t—”  
_

_“No whining, Winchester. Bring in another one, Ace. He can handle it.”_

_“No! Alastair, please—”  
_

_“Dean, unless I hear a resounding ‘yes’ come out of that pretty mouth of yours, I don’t want to hear anything other than screams. Now. You’re going to take these nice demons’ cocks in your ass like the disgusting cockslut you are, all right? And you’re going to fucking_ enjoy _it. You got that?”_

_Dean opened his mouth and Alastair wrapped a gag around it until Dean was choking. There were…there were three guys in him already, and one was on his way to Dean’s gagged mouth. He could feel himself being ripped open from the inside out, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was tied backwards to a chair with his ass in the air and his chin shoved into the chair’s back. His knees drove into the seat on every thrust.  
_

_If only he could die._

Dean wakes up choking.

“Hello, Dean.”

This fucking angel. What the fuck is he doing sitting on the end of Dean’s bed like he belongs there. He doesn’t have permission to do that, whether he saved Dean’s life or not. The sooner this asshole gets out of Dean’s life the better.

“Get your freak on by watching other people sleep? What do you want?” Dean snaps back.

“Listen to me. You have to stop it.”

Oh, he’s being cryptic now? Fantastic. “Stop what?”

The angel reaches out and places two fingers on Dean’s forehead, and everything goes black.

Dean’s woken up by a security guard in the middle of the day on an uncomfortable park bench.

No signal on his phone, but there’s a diner across the street. He finds the best-looking guy in the joint and asks where the fuck he is. Lawrence, Kansas? Great. What did that stupid angel do to him.

The guy makes a Star Trek joke when Dean pulls out his cellphone, and that? Doesn’t make sense. But it isn’t until Dean’s casually flirting with the dude and mentions Sonny and Cher breaking up that he realizes something is off.

“Sonny and Cher broke up?”

 What.

The guy pulls out a newspaper, and things either click into place or get foggier—Dean hasn’t decided which—when he sees the date April 30, 1973, at the top.

Another guy comes into the diner then and says, “Hey, Winchester,” but when Dean turns he finds that the guy is looking past him.

That’s when Dean learns that the dude he was just blatantly flirting with is his father.

Fuck.

Dean’s so dumbstruck that he freaks his dad out.

“Do we know each other?”

“I—I guess not,” Dean stammers, still staring.

“Take it easy, pal.”

Dean waits a couple minutes before following his dad out of the diner and down the street. He loses him, however, when he turns a corner and almost runs right into Castiel.

“What is this?” Dean asks, sounding more panicked than he’d like to admit.

“What does it look like?”

Still doing cryptic then.

Dean tries to get a straight answer out of the angel, but no luck. The thing disappears, and Dean’s left to figure this out on his own. Just fucking great.

He finds his dad again—at a car dealership, looking at fucking _minivans_.

Absolutely not is Dean going to let _this_ happen. Maybe this is why the angel sent him here. To make sure his dad doesn’t buy a shitty car.

It doesn’t take much bargaining at all to convince his dad to get the Impala. Thank god. But when Dean tries to question him to see if there’s any supernatural activity going on around here, his dad looks at him like he's a freak.

Too bad he can’t flirt his way through this one, use sex as a bargaining tool like he sometimes has to do. Gross.

The best he can do is to just keep following his dad, and it turns out to be fruitful when he goes on a date with his mom.

His mom. She’s beautiful and perfect and Dean wishes Sammy was here to see this and suddenly Castiel doesn’t seem like such a bag of garbage.

The next thing Dean knows, his mom is attacking him and he’s trying to defend himself without hurting her and—

“Are you a hunter?”

In the next few hours, everything Dean thought he knew about his family is turned on its head.

Hunters. They’re all hunters. Oh, and Dean’s named after his grandmother. Typical.

The worst part, though, is when his mom opens up to him about wanting to get out. She wants to marry John and get away from the family business and have kids and raise them in a normal lifestyle with no hunting whatsoever.

As she’s talking, every bad memory Dean’s ever had as a result of being raised as a hunter flashes through his mind. His mom couldn’t keep her promise. She couldn’t keep her promise, and it’s not her fault, and that makes it just so much worse. There’s nothing Dean can do to change this.

But he’s still going to try.

He tells her not to get out of bed on November 2, 1983. It’s a long shot, but it’s all he’s got.

The next day, there’s not much Dean can do when Azazel possesses his grandfather’s body and ties Dean to a chair and promises to fuck up his sibling one day. Dean feels like he’s going to puke or pass out or both when Samuel invades his personal space and starts making sexual advances—however insincere they might be.

He hasn’t said anything yet to trigger a memory from hell, but it doesn’t matter. Any unwelcome sexual advances at this point are the worst thing that could possibly happen to Dean. He’s still so—he’s so fucked up from hell, he doesn’t know how long it’s going to take for him to get past this.

And the fact that it’s his _grandpa_ and _Azazel_ just makes it a hundred times worse. He thought he would never have to deal with this demon again. The room is spinning and Dean’s eyes can’t focus and he can hear every little sound in the room as if it’s _right there_ in his ear.

He somehow manages to sound threatening when he says, “I’m the one who kills you,” and it’s the first time that Azazel looks like he’s thrown off guard.

But then he smirks and leans over and plants his lips on Dean’s and Dean starts to have a panic attack. He can’t breathe and the room is spinning and he’s starting to hear Alastair’s voice in his ear and—

He’s still recovering when he realizes that Azazel killed his grandmother and is now after his mom.

He doesn’t actually think it’s real when he gets outside and sees his dad’s lifeless body next to his mom, who’s kissing Azazel.

He couldn’t stop anything.

He couldn’t change anything.

He couldn’t—

He failed.

When he feels a strong hand on his shoulder, he’s somehow relieved when he turns and sees that it’s Castiel. It’s the first time he’s been happy to see the angel’s face. The angel, who looks sympathetic. Who looks like he understands. How much does he know?

And does he actually care?

 

* * *

 

Dean’s fucked up a lot in his life. He’ll be the first to say that he’s done more inexcusable shit than most people. It might even be safe to use the word _trash_ when describing what he’s like.

And maybe right now, as he watches his brother exorcise a demon using fucking telepathy, the word _hypocrite_ would be a pretty accurate description as well. As Dean watches Sam, all he can think is _this is inexcusable behavior._ Dean knows what monsters look like. He knows what it’s like to _be_ a monster. This is really not what he wanted to return to when he got out of hell.

The fact that Sam’s doing all of this shit with _Ruby_ is just the icing on the goddamn cake. His own brother betrayed him for a demon.

It doesn’t even feel better to punch Sam in the face, so Dean does it a second time. Still nothing changes. His brother is staring back at him with pleading heartbreak in his eyes, and Dean can do nothing but yell at him and say all the horrible things to him that he would never want to hear said to himself. He hears his father’s voice in his ears telling him _if you can’t save him, you’ll have to kill him._

He regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth.

“If I didn’t know you, I would want to hunt you. And so would other hunters.”

“You were gone. And I was here. And what I do…it works.”

Dean would prefer anger, rage, a punch to the face in retaliation—those he knows how to handle with Sam. Instead, he’s just getting tired resolve. He can’t handle this because he’s been in Sam’s position too many times before. Whether torturing or being tortured in hell, getting punished for his back-bar prostitution, or being threatened for his sexuality—Dean knows what it’s like when people scream in his face about how big of a fuck-up he is, and he knows that the only reaction is acceptance, admittance, _resolve._

It means that Sam has given up. There’s nothing Dean can do to make him change his mind. But he sure as hell is going to try because all he knows how to do is protect Sam. Sam is in danger if he keeps this up, and Dean has to protect him from himself just like he protects him from everything else. All he knows how to do.

There’s a rugaru case in Carthage, and Sam of course has false hope that the guy can demonstrate self-control and stop himself from turning into a monster. Dean knows better.

Dropping hints about how the guy’s going to turn into a monster no matter what they do because it’s just inside him eventually works in tipping Sam over the edge. He commands Dean to stop the car, and Dean’s fucking _glad_ he’s finally angry.

“Why do you think I lie to you, Dean? It’s because you talk to me like I’m a freak.”

“I do not!”

“Or worse—like I’m an idiot, like I don’t know the difference between right and wrong.”

“ _Do_ you know the difference, Sam?” Hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite.

“You have no idea what I’m going through.”

“Then enlighten me, Sam,” Dean shouts.

“I’ve got _demon blood_ in me, Dean. This disease pumping through my veins, and I can’t rip it out or scrub it clean. I’m a whole new level of _freak._ And I’m just trying to take this—this curse and make something good out of it. Because I have to.”

“Oh, _really?_ You really think I can’t fucking _relate_ to that, Sam? You think I don’t know what the hell it’s like to feel diseased, to feel like a freak, like—like there’s nothing I can do and nobody I can turn to to wipe my slate clean? Don’t you fucking tell me I wouldn’t understand that, Sam.”

Sam looks at Dean hard before answering, and Dean can’t tell if he’s angry or empathetic. “You’re not broken, Dean. The difference between me and you is that my disease is inherently evil. Yours is self-identified, bad just because _you_ think it’s bad.” He looks down at the ground and continues quieter, “Your slate is clean in everybody’s mind but your own. That’s the difference.”

Sam has no idea what he’s talking about, he doesn't know about hell, and Dean can’t have this argument anymore of “who’s got it worse,” so he says, “All right, let’s go talk to the guy—to Jack,” before turning back to the car.

He wishes he could see Sam the way Sam sees him. But he just can’t stand the thought of seeing his brother, the person he cares about more than anyone else in the world, turn into something as bad as him.

 

* * *

 

“C’mon man, it’s about time the Winchesters got back to a straightforward, black-and-white case,” Dean says as he and Sam drive toward an Oktoberfest in Pennsylvania for what sounds like a vampire killing.

Sam laughs humorlessly. “Yeah, because our lives are both so black-and-white all the time.”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

When they get to the town, it’s not too difficult to find the guy they need to interview about the vampire. On impulse Dean flirts with the bartender, Jamie, and he only panics about it after they’re done talking.

Sam asks him what’s wrong, but Dean waves him off. Now’s not the time to tell his brother that since he got out of hell he’s been getting progressively more afraid to be anywhere near the vicinity of sex. He hasn’t even gotten hard a single time in the past two months.

But Jamie seems sweet and unthreatening, and he thinks starting his road to recovery with her might be a good idea.

Sam’s far too suspicious though, so Dean admits to him that he thinks his body was restored since he came back.

“I’ve been rehymenated,” he announces as smugly as he can manage. He wishes those words were true, and he supposes they are in the physical sense. His body was ripped apart every goddamn day in hell, and even before hell he had a few permanent issues caused by guys being too rough with him when he was a teenager. Now his ass is as smooth as a baby’s bottom, and the rest of his body is in pretty solid shape, too. It’s the mental block that’s fucking him up.

“You’re insane.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going to take advantage of this golden opportunity.”

“So how does virginity even work in your case? Do you lose half of it when you have sex with a girl and then the other half when you have sex with a guy?”

“You know, that question is so ignorant I’m going to pretend like I never heard it,” Dean answers, but secretly he’s actually asking himself the same thing.

At least for now, he doesn’t think he’s quite ready to be a “receptacle” again. Not sure he wants to confirm everything Alastair always said about him.

It’s not until later, when he and Jamie are alone in the bar together and he’s got an arm slung over the back of the booth to bring her closer, that he realizes he’s not really ready to be with a girl either.

He’s been putting on the charm for the past half hour, talking surprisingly truthfully about what it’s like to save people’s lives and how good it feels to do something _right_ , and he knows that now’s the time when he’s supposed to kiss her, but his throat starts to close up and he can’t breathe.

“Are you OK?” she asks seriously.

Dean pulls his face back a little and tries to focus on how uncomplicated this is—she’s pretty and gentle and she’s not going to hurt you, Dean.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean says, and his voice only cracks slightly.

She doesn’t move, and Dean finds it in him to lean forward and press his lips against hers. His mind goes into panic mode, but he keeps on kissing her, and he knows eventually he’ll have to stop and move onto something more, but for now he just has to focus on not fainting in the middle of this kiss.

Lucky for him, her friend shows up on the other side of the bar and interrupts them. Thank god.

The vampire actually ends up being a shapeshifter, and a fucking weird one at that. He captures both Dean and Jamie and dresses them up in weird ass clothes and makes them play a part in his twisted fantasy. By the time it’s all over, Dean’s not even thinking about his own personal shit when Jamie runs into his arms and cries on his shoulder.

It’s as natural as it’s ever going to be when he’s saying goodbye at his car and kisses her over and over again. It feels nice, good even, but he still doesn’t feel much at all. He can worry about that later, though. The important thing is that he’s kissed a girl several times in the past two days, and he hasn’t screamed and run away yet.

Yeah, Jamie was good. He kind of wishes they could stay in town a little longer so he could get to know her better. Maybe he’ll call her.

Yeah, right.

 

* * *

 

Sam’s usually more intuitive about his brother, but he’s been so wrapped up in his own personal hell that he doesn’t really have it in him to worry about Dean as much as he’s accustomed to.

It hasn’t been exactly fun since Dean got back from hell, and Sam knows there’s a ton of shit between them that they need to work out eventually (as usual). For now, though, he’s happy just to be working on simple cases again. He’s happy not to be tracking down demons with Ruby 24/7, and he’s happy to look to his left and find his brother tapping on the steering wheel and singing quietly with the radio.

They take a case in Colorado in a town where everybody is really fucking weird. Well, except for one of the cops—a young deputy that Dean flirts mercilessly with. Sam is surprised by it at first, and that’s when he realizes he hasn’t seen Dean flirt with a guy since he got back from hell. Huh.

Dean ends up catching something called ghost sickness, and Sam secretly thinks it’s hilarious. Of course, it’s kind of annoying, too. It’s not really useful if Dean is scared shitless while they’re trying to figure out a case. Sam’s already had to switch their motel room to the first floor, and he’s getting real sick of driving below the speed limit.

At one point Dean gets drunk and flirts with the cop again, but when Sam pulls him out of the police station Dean nearly has a nervous breakdown.

“Oh god, did I—I just flirted with that deputy, didn’t I? Oh. I’m going to be sick. Why did I do that, Sammy—why’d you let me do that?” he shouts as he paces back and forth in front of the car.

“Whoa, Dean. Calm down, it’s all right. You flirt with people all the time, remember?”

“No I don’t! Not anymore! Not since—no. I can’t do this. You can finish this case on your own, Sammy, I’m done.”

Sam doesn’t really see what the big deal is, but he manages to get Dean to calm down enough to at least get him back to the motel. He makes a mental note to ask about that later.

When it’s all said and done with, though, Dean lies about what he saw toward the end. Sam knows he was hallucinating something truly awful, but all he says is that he saw howler monkeys. Sam doesn’t even get half the question out about the freak out over the deputy before Dean completely changes the subject. Well then. Maybe another time.

 

* * *

 

Sam meets Castiel on Halloween. He’s so excited he can barely think straight. All the times in his life he’s prayed to God, all the stories he’s read and the research he’s done—angels are real. Angels are real, and that means the supernatural world is not 100 percent vile.

When Castiel tells Sam that he’s heard a lot about him, his heart drops. This isn’t what he imagined meeting an angel would be like. He swallows his pride and pretends like everything is fine even though he hasn’t felt this hurt in a long time. He really didn’t need Dean’s beliefs about him confirmed by a heavenly garrison.

It’s quickly overshadowed, however, by Castiel and Uriel telling them they have to leave the town because they’re going to destroy it. Sam suddenly understands why Dean acts so angry and disrespectful around angels. (Well, that and the fact that he and Castiel have loads of sexual tension neither of them seem to be the slightest bit aware of.)

Dean asks Sam what’s wrong when they get in the car, and Sam admits that he’s disappointed in the angels.

“I tried to tell you. They’re a bunch of assholes.”

“Yeah, well I thought they’d be…righteous.”

Dean stiffens at the word but composes himself before Sam has a chance to ask what’s wrong. “They _are_ righteous. That’s the problem. Nothing worse than thinking you’re on some kind of holy mission.”

“But—this is God and heaven? _This_ is what I’ve been praying to?”

“Listen, man, I know you’re into the whole God and Jesus thing. But just because there’s a couple of bad apples doesn’t mean the whole barrel’s rotten. I mean, for all we know God hates these jerks. Don’t give up on this stuff is all I’m saying.”

Sam stares down at his hands and doesn’t respond. His brother, who thinks God and angels and everything are all a load of crap, is telling him to have faith. He’s telling him not to turn to the wrong side.

It’s not like any of it matters, though. They're not leaving this town to be destroyed. And when push comes to shove, Sam has no choice but to use his powers to exorcise Samhain. And it nearly kills him.

For some reason he’s not even surprised when Uriel shows up in their motel room and gives him the “I told you so” speech. He’s so angry he could punch the guy in the face, but he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t even faze him. He can’t even find it in him to care when Uriel gives him the death threat.

But then, as he’s leaving, he says, “As for your brother, tell him to get off that high horse of his. Ask him what he remembers from hell.”

Oh. Either Dean did something bad in hell and doesn’t remember it or he did something bad in hell and _does_ remember it. Either way, Dean is guilty of something.

Shit. Sam’s been so selfish lately. What new weight of guilt is Dean carrying now? And will he even be willing to let Sam take some of it?

 

* * *

 

They’re teddy bear doctors in Washington. Sam gets struck by lightning and dies for the second time in his life. Dean gets beaten up by a child.

Once they’ve figured out the source of the magic and how to reverse it, Dean admits to Sam that he remembers everything about hell. But he won’t talk about it.

Figures.

Sam, as usual, knows to choose his battles wisely. This is one he can wait on. If Dean wants to shoulder it on his own for a while, so be it. But from everything he’s seen from Dean since he returned from hell, it’s probably better if he talks about it sooner rather than later. From the frequent nightmares, daily anxiety, twice as much fighting as they usually do with each other and his lack of interest in doing anything other than going on the next case, Dean’s PTSD is getting out of control. Sam has no clue how to help.

They’ve got nothing going on for a few days, and it’s actually kind of nice to just hang out in bars and hustle people out of their money. Sam’s good at pool, but he’s not as good as Dean at convincing people to bet big. While Sam acts drunk and sinks everything he hits, Dean sits back, bats his eyelashes and gets men and women alike to throw money at his feet. They make a good team.

It’s all well and good until Ruby shows up and tells them that a girl named Anna Milton just escaped from a mental hospital. Dean tries to tell Ruby to fuck off, and then Ruby tells Dean to go suck a dick, and instead of using the obvious comeback that Sam would say if _he_ was queer—“You know, that sounds great, maybe I will”—Dean says weakly, “Well— _you_ can suck a dick.” Poor Dean.

Three-day car rides aren’t always the most fun with Dean when he’s pissed. He bitches about Ruby for a solid hour and asks Sam why the fuck he trusts her. The only way Sam gets him to shut up is by bringing up hell and telling him they can swap stories.

It turns out Anna Milton was talking a lot about apocalyptic events. Maybe she didn’t belong in the mental hospital after all, and there actually is a case here.

Their beliefs are confirmed when they get to a nearby church, and Anna is there already knowing everything about them and saying that she hears angels. Sam ignores the knot in his chest when she calls Dean “ _the_ Dean” and then halfheartedly adds that none of the angels like Sam very much. It’s not that Sam’s jealous or anything that Dean’s apparently got some special godly purpose—he’s actually weirdly proud of him if he’s being honest—it just sucks that _he’s_ apparently the opposing side of the mission.

Dean does a good job of making Anna feel better, and Sam’s glad his brother knows exactly how to shape his charm for every situation—even if all he’s trying to do is eventually get in Anna’s pants. They don’t get a chance to tell her that her parents are dead, though, because Ruby shows up and tells them they need to get the fuck out of there.

But it’s too late, it’s too late and they barely have time to hide Anna, and Sam doesn’t have time to get more demon blood in his system before the demon appears in the doorway and Sam’s supposed to exorcise him but he’s not strong enough and the guy barely flinches and—

“That tickles. You don’t have the juice to take _me_ on, Sam.” He throws Sam down the stairs like it’s nothing, but luckily Sam stays conscious.

When he composes himself enough to get up, he finds the demon holding Dean by his shirt, teasing him in between hitting him in the face. Right before Sam stabs the guy in the chest, he hears Dean say his name like he knows him.

Alastair?

The knife doesn’t kill him, but Sam doesn’t care. The demon’s distracted enough for Sam to tend to Dean, make sure he’s all right before they bust through the stained glass window to get the hell out of there.

They lose the knife. They have no idea where Ruby took Anna. Sam wishes he could make Dean trust him for trusting Ruby.

When Dean pretty much demands that Sam spill about Ruby, he decides to fuck it. He’ll tell Dean every gory detail, right on down to the noises Ruby makes and the way her eyes shake to black when he’s fucking her. Who the fuck cares anymore.

“Sam. Too much information.”

“Hey, I told you I was coming clean.”

“Yeah, but now _I_ feel dirty.”

“Yes, because describing what it’s like to have sex with Ruby is traumatizing and catching you _in the act_ of fucking men and women and everybody in between is not.”

“Yeah, well, at least those people weren’t demons. Continue.”

Sam tells Dean about the time he tracked down Lilith, and he admits that it was a suicide mission. Dean won’t make eye contact with him when Sam describes how Ruby called him out for not caring about living if Dean’s dead. Dean needs to know. Needs to know he’s as important to Sam as Sam is to him.

“What she said to me, it’s what you would’ve said. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here,” Sam finishes truthfully.

Dean doesn’t get a chance to respond before there’s a knock on the door from Ruby. She gives them instructions on where to go, and they head out immediately.

Castiel and Uriel show up. Castiel says Anna has to die.

It all happens so abruptly it’s like none of it is real.

 

* * *

 

There’s blasts of light, and Castiel and Uriel disappear into thin air.

They find Anna with blood on her hands, slits on her wrists, a bloody symbol on the mirror.

Dean runs to her and immediately begins tending to her wounds.

“Are they gone?” she asks.

“Did you kill them?”

“No. I sent them away. Far away.”

Dean stares at the sigil on the mirror. “You want to tell me how?”

“It just popped into my head. I don’t know how I did it. I just did.”

OK, so he’s going to decide to not let that freak him out. They’ve got to get safe, get the hell away from those freak shows that call themselves angels. They get to Bobby’s within a couple days, and Dean ensures that Anna knows she’s safe there. He likes Anna. He likes feeling like he can take care of her and comfort her, and he likes how unthreatening and small she is (his only two requirements these days). The task of making her feel safe instead of scared is distracting him from being scared himself. God, it’s like he’s done nothing but feel scared lately. It’s like he’s had that stupid ghost sickness for the past several months, except it won’t just do its fucking job and kill him already.

As if on cue, Anna asks if they’re scared, and Dean smiles with as much arrogance as he can muster and replies, “Nah.”

When Dean leaves to go talk to Sam, he misses that Anna follows him until it’s too late. She overhears everything Sam’s researched about her, and she’s demanding answers they don’t have.

Dean blurts out the first solution that comes to his mind—that they should go talk to Pamela.

Dean’s more than happy when Pamela chooses to inappropriately flirt with Sam this time instead of him. Sure, it would be fun to go a round with her, but maybe in the future. Or more likely never since he keeps saying “maybe in the future” each time he sees her.

Within the next half hour, Anna’s memories are flooding back, and when Pam finally gets her to calm down she tells them that she’s an angel.

Well that’s just great. So much for her being unthreatening. Only a matter of time before she turns into a giant bag of dicks like the rest of them.

Fortunately for them, she promises she’s not like the other angels. It turns out she ripped out her own grace (grace? Apparently the thing that makes angels angels?) and hurdled herself to earth as a human. If they can find her grace, then maybe they can do something about Castiel and Uriel.

While Sam and Ruby get to work, Pamela takes Dean aside and asks for a ride home.

“I’m not doing this again. I’m done dealing with angels,” she says firmly.

“I know, I get it. C’mon, I’ll take you back.” Dean places a hand on her back in comfort, and he hopes she doesn’t get the wrong idea.

It’s a quiet ride to her house, and Pamela doesn’t try to flirt with Dean at all. She simply kisses him on the cheek before thanking him and telling him not to bother walking her to the door.

“Oh, and Dean? It’s OK to be scared. Anna’s good for you. Give her a chance.”

Pamela’s gone before Dean has a chance to respond.

He finds Anna out in the lot leaning against a car when he gets back, and on impulse he parks right near her and strikes up a conversation. Despite the fact that he knows what Anna _is_ now, he’s still on board to, at the very least, be friendly with her. Also, she could have information that Dean needs.

“Can I ask you something?” he says as he leans against the car next to her. “What do the angels want me for? Why did they save me?”

Anna looks genuinely sorry when she says, “The angels aren’t talking about it, and it was after I fell.”

“That’s another question—why would you fall? Why would you want to be one of us?”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I _don’t?”_

They argue about it for a few minutes until Anna finally admits that she would give absolutely anything not to have to go back to being an angel.

Dean doesn’t think he gets it. Being perfect, righteous, never doubting anything or anyone—not even yourself. That sounds like the fucking dream.

But when Anna starts talking about how only four angels have ever seen God’s face, and it sucks having faith in something when they are unknowable and out of reach and you feel like you can never do what’s right and you’re always coming up short and you’re never going to be good enough because you don’t even know what good is and—

“What’s funny?” Anna asks.

“Nothing. It’s just—I guess I can relate.”

They stare at each other for a while before Sam appears and tells them they have a lead.

When they get to the place where Anna’s grace is supposed to be, she says it’s gone. They camp out in an abandoned cabin nearby.

A message comes on angel radio.

_Dean Winchester will return Anna to us by midnight or else we hurl him back to damnation.  
_

Fucking fantastic.

He’s freaking out so much he can’t possibly deal with Sam and Ruby, so he goes outside and frantically does some research on his own to try and come up with a solution. _Calm the fuck down, Dean._

When Anna shows up behind him, he relaxes just enough to say in a comforting voice, “Hey. Holding up OK?”

“Dean. I just wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything. You know, you didn’t have to help me.”

“Hey, let’s can the ‘thanks for trying’ speech, you know?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I just don’t deserve to be saved.”

God, Dean would do anything to save this girl. “Don’t talk like that.”

Anna moves closer to him and sits back so he has to look down pretty far to see her. She tells him that she knows what he did in hell, and he just barely flinches when she reaches up to cup his cheek.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she says with conviction.

Dean really, truly wants to believe it.

“You should forgive yourself.”

“Anna, I don’t want to, uh—I don’t want to…I can’t talk about that.” He’s crying and her hand is gone and he wants it back, he needs the touch, needs the comfort.

“I know. But when you can, you have people that want to help. You’re not alone. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

Yeah. Before he met any real angels, when he thought they were just a ridiculous myth, this is exactly how he imagined they would be.

Anna stands and gives him plenty of time to register that she’s about to kiss him. He lets it happen. It doesn’t scare him.

“What was that for?”

“You know, our last night on earth…all that.”

Dean considers it for a moment and then says, “You’re stealing my best line” before leaning back down for another kiss.

He’s going to do this. It’s been a couple months since he got out of hell. Surely…it has to be enough time to be ready to do this.

He takes Anna’s hand and leads her to the Impala, and it’s the most time he’s ever taken in bed as he crawls over her in the backseat and kisses her again. There’s not really enough room in his car for this, but that somehow makes it better. Makes it easier to think, “God, it’s cramped in here” instead of thinking, “Shit, this is the first time I’ve had consensual sex in 40 years.”

Anna is small and somewhat delicate and the opposite of everything Dean experienced in hell. They take off their own shirts, but then Dean reaches for Anna’s jeans and she stops him.

“I probably should’ve told you, um—” she leans her head back and closes her eyes in shame.

Dean looks down in a panic and finds—

Well, that’s certainly a surprise but not an unwelcome one.

“I kind of, um, I mean—I assumed you wouldn’t mind. If it’s too weird for you, we can just—”

“Anna. Please. You think a little dick is going to scare me away?”

“It is _not_ little,” she mumbles.

“Sorry, my bad. You know what I meant. Do you, uh, need some help getting hard or—”

“Oh god, this is the first time you’ve done this, isn’t it? What was I thinking. You know what, I’ll just—”

Dean clamps his hands on Anna’s thighs to stop her from leaving. “No! Um, no, actually this isn’t the first time I’ve done this. I went out with a girl a few times a couple years ago who had a bigger dick than me. I’m not being awkward because of _that_ , I just…haven’t had sex in a while. Sorry.”

Anna reaches a hand up to cup Dean’s face. “Oh. Yes, I’ll need some help. Opening me up should do the trick, though.”

Dean takes the hint that Anna would rather do this without him touching her dick. As surprisingly strong the urge is to suck it right now, Dean resists it and tells Anna to get on her stomach instead.

He doesn’t have any lube, so he’s going to have to make do with his tongue. To be fair, he’s usually on the receiving end of this so he’s going to take his time and do it right. Anna makes the most beautiful noises while he eats her out, and she’s squirming and pushing back onto his tongue so much that the car starts rocking.

“Dean—please—fuck me already.”

Dean seamlessly replaces his tongue with a finger and adds a second in no time at all. When he gets to three fingers he takes a little more time not necessarily for Anna’s sake but for his own. Again, being the one _doing_ this instead of _getting_ it is making it a little more difficult to prepare. He’s got his own dick in his spit-covered hand and finally it feels harder than it has since before hell.

“OK, sweetheart, I’m going to push in,” he warns her before lifting up on his knees and lining himself up.

“ _Finally,”_ Anna breathes.

It’s much easier to slide into Anna than he was expecting, and they both fall silent as they rock slowly together. It’s just as gentle and easy as the kissing earlier, and at some point Anna somehow flips them over so she’s riding Dean from above and teasing him into trying to reach up to kiss her but then pulling away before he gets there.

Dean comes inside of her and throws his head back against the seat as she continues to ride him. He’s pulled back into reality when he feels her come pour onto his chest, and yeah, he totally forgot for a second that she had a dick.

Anna pulls out of him as carefully as possible in the small space before rummaging around for his t-shirt to clean both of them up. Once that’s done, she collapses against his chest, and he starts rubbing her back lazily.

“Can I ask you about it?”

She sighs heavily and wraps her arms tighter around his chest. “Only if I can ask you about the handprint.”

“OK, fair. Didn’t you grow up in a religious home? Was that…difficult?”

“Of course it was. Would’ve been difficult no matter what, but yeah. My parents weren’t exactly thrilled.”

“When did you know?”

“That I was a girl? Uh, immediately I guess. I think being an angel made it different. We’re pretty much genderless, so it was weird being assigned a gender and then feeling weird about it like it was wrong or something. But that’s one of the things I hate about being an angel. What’s my identity then? Who gets to define me?”

Dean doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything.

“So the handprint?”

“Pretty sure Castiel did it. I mean, I never asked him. But it makes sense. He pulled me out of hell, and I guess it made a mark.”

“Dean, I have bad news.”

Oh no. “What?”

“Angels don’t just _accidentally_ leave marks on their charge. Um, Cas was basically searing part of himself into you. It’s an act of love—to show how much you care about someone. It’s about as much as you can get away with worshiping someone other than God.”

“What the fuck?”

“Castiel probably won’t ever say anything to you about it. Just—take it as a compliment, Dean. It means he cares about you more than he was required to. He went above and beyond obeying orders.”

Dean gets lost in thought at the idea of that until he drifts off to sleep.

Castiel saw Dean at his worst. His _very_ worst. He saw him at his worst and cared more about him than he was supposed to.

Huh.

He’s walking back into the barn and running into Uriel when he realizes he’s dreaming.

“Where’s your boss? Rare to see you unleashed.”

“Castiel? He’s, uh, he’s not here.” Uriel drops to a whisper. “You see, he has this weakness. He _likes_ you.”

Dean tries not to show how that affects him. With what he and Anna were talking about earlier, there’s almost no doubt in Dean’s mind that Uriel knows about the mark, too. And what it means. Even before all that, though, ever since the conversation he and Castiel had on that bench on Halloween, he figured the angel was a little…different. Like Anna maybe. Prone to disobedience, full of doubt, attracted to what humanity has to offer that heaven can’t. Fond of Dean specifically for some goddamn reason. Dean’s been pretending for weeks like that doesn’t scare the ever-living hell out of him. He really doesn’t need the angel who pulled him out of hell to take any sort of interest in him, and now that his fears have been confirmed he’s more than confused about how to respond.

“Your time’s up. Give us the girl.”

“Wouldn’t try that if I were you. See, she got her grace back,” Dean lies. “Full-blown angel now.”

Uriel pulls out a vial from around his neck and says, “That would be a neat trick considering I have her grace right here.”

Dean doesn’t even care that he turns desperate at this point; he wants nothing more than to rip that grace from around Uriel’s neck and run it over to Anna as fast as he can.

It gets to the part in the game where Uriel threatens to throw Dean back in hell. He’s getting real sick of this shit.

“What the hell? Go ahead and do it.”

“You’re just crazy enough to go, aren’t you?”

“What can I say? I don’t break easy.” It’s a lie and he knows it as soon as the words come out of his mouth but god, does he wish it were true.

Uriel circles around him as he replies slowly, “Yes. You do. You just got to know where to apply the right pressure.”

Oh god. Sam. He’s going to bring Sam into this, and Dean’s going to cave. Will they ever meet a supernatural being that won’t use them against each other? Probably not.

The next morning, Dean downs his flask twice before noon. He slept with Anna and then sold her out all in the same night, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before—

Castiel and Uriel nearly bust down the doors coming in like they fucking own the place. God, Dean hates angels so fucking much.

Sam asks them how they found them, and Dean turns to Anna and says he’s sorry. He doesn’t even hear how mad Sam is; he just keeps on staring at Anna with all the pain he’s feeling.

Anna kisses him and tells him he did the best he could and that she forgives him, and Dean’s just drunk enough to believe her.

He’s also drunk enough to get weirdly aroused when Alastair shows up and Castiel turns his righteous fury on him. Shit. Is he attracted to this fucking holy tax accountant with the chapped lips? OK, he’s really got to start sleeping with more people again.

After a few good hits and an unsuccessful smiting, Alastair gets the upper hand on Castiel and begins to choke him to death. Dean reacts instinctively and slams a metal pipe in the bastard’s face. Castiel might be a scary dick, but he doesn’t deserve to die today.

Alastair takes Sam and Dean by the throat, but then they hear Anna shouting, “shut your eyes” from the other side of the barn and when the huge blast of light cools off, Alastair and Anna are both gone.

 

* * *

 

“I know you heard him.”

“Who?”

“Alastair. What he said—about how I had promise.”

“I heard him,” Sam confirms.

“You’re not curious?”

“Dean, I’m damn curious, but you’re not talking about hell, and I’m not pushing.”

Dean takes a long pull from his beer, and Sam wishes he could see his face instead of the back of his head.

“It wasn’t four months, you know. It was four months up here, but down there…I don’t know, time’s different. It was more like 40 years.”

Sam’s heart skips a beat. “Oh my god.”

“They sliced and carved and tore me in ways that you—until there was nothing left. And then suddenly, I would be whole again. Like magic. Just so they could start it all over. And Alastair, at the end of every day—every one—he would come over and he would make me an offer. He would take me off the rack if I put souls on. If I started the torturing. And every day I told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine. For 30 years I told him. But then I couldn’t do it anymore, Sammy. I couldn’t. And I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off it. And I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls. The things that I did to them…”

“Dean. Dean, look, you held out for 30 years. That’s longer than anyone would’ve.”

“How I feel—this—inside me, I wish I couldn’t feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn’t feel a damn thing.”

Sam lifts his head and looks up at the sky. He has no clue how to help Dean carry this burden. This—this is so much worse than he imagined. His brother’s been through so fucking much, he wants to murder whoever’s responsible. For everything. For making Dean into a machine, for making him hate himself, for making him unable to accept the parts of himself that he can't control and that aren't even bad, for making him a fucking prostitute, for making him _torture_ people in hell, for everything. He would kill somebody to take all of Dean's pain away.

“It’s not your fault, Dean.”

Dean laughs humorlessly. “That’s what Anna said.”

“Your slate’s clean as far as I’m concerned. It _always_ has been. For everything.”

Dean nods and wipes his eyes, and when he turns to look at Sam there’s malice in his features. “That doesn’t make anything better, Sammy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of based Anna off of a character in season 4 of Ally McBeal (random, I know). Anyway, you are welcome to let me know if I haven't handled the subject material with enough sensitivity.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second half of season 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Zachariah is a dick about gender, Dean Smith is attracted to Sam Wesson, the last couple hundred words are mostly dialogue from the finale oops.

Sirens.

A fucking _siren.  
_

This is probably the dumbest case Sam and Dean have ever been on, but Sam’s so fucking tired he doesn’t have it in him to argue with Dean. (“ _Strippers_ , Sam. We are not passing up a case with strippers.”) Dean’s been dragging him across the country for weeks now, searching for the next case before they’re even done with the one they’re on. He’s pretty sure Dean’s been sleeping an average of about three hours per week.

He doesn’t know if the hyper focus and inability to do anything except go on the next case is a progression in the PTSD or not, but Sam’s starting to miss scared-to-death Dean. He doesn’t even have it in him to be worried about his brother or try to talk to him about it—he’s just _so_ tired.

But it’s the dumbest case they’ve been on, and it only gets dumber when they realize it’s a siren.

Yeah, sure, let’s fight a monster who uses _sex_ to entice its victims into killing people. It’s not like sex has ever posed an issue for Sam and Dean in the past. This is a _great_ idea, foolproof plan.

Sam decides not to even try to fight it—if they’re going to find the siren they might as well just start having sex with people. He convinces Dean to go out with the other FBI detective while he hangs out with the way more forward than he expected doctor, Cara.

Dean tries to argue with, “What am I supposed to do with him?”

“You’re kidding me, right? What is it you _normally_ do with good-looking guys, Dean?”

“All right, _fine_. If we die having sex with people I’m going to kill you.”

Sam pats Dean on the back to send him on his way before returning to Cara to ask about the blood samples they need to see. It’s unshockingly easy to get in Cara’s pants, and Sam’s fairly certain he’s not under a siren’s spell when he leaves.

He calls Dean and says, “Pretty sure it’s not Cara. How’s it going with Nick?”

There’s a grunt and a loud snapping sound before Dean answers breathlessly, “Going—well. He’s—ah—um—”

“Oh my _god_ , Dean, did you answer the phone in the middle of sex? You’re unbelievable, you know that, right?”

“Hrr—hmm—sorry—Sammy. Call later.”

Sam closes his phone and shakes his head. Fucking _Dean._

When he gets back to the hotel room later that night, he’s greeted by the FBI agent sitting on Dean’s bed and Dean putting a knife to his throat from behind.

So it was Nick then. Good times.

“Dean, come on, man, this isn’t you. You can fight this. Let me go.”

“Why don’t you cut him, just a little—on his neck right there?” Nick says smoothly.

Sam feels the prick of pain but is more concerned with how strong the siren’s hold is over his brother. Sam might not make it out of this alive.

“Dean’s all mine.”

“You poisoned him.”

“No, I gave him what he needed, and it wasn’t some stripper in a G-string. It was you. A little brother he could trust, who looked up to him. And now he loves me.”

OK so it’s a little weird. Um. He tries not to think about the fact that they were having sex just a couple hours earlier. That’s a conversation he really doesn’t want to have with Dean. Ever.

The stupid fucking thing spits its venom in Sam’s mouth and tells them both to hash out their differences and whoever survives can stay with him forever.

Sam knows what he’s saying to Dean. He’s fully aware of the damage they’re inflicting on one another. But he doesn’t give a shit. He loves Nick.

“I don’t know when it happened. The Sam I knew, he’s gone. We used to be in this together. We used to have each other’s backs.”

“OK, fine. You know why I didn’t tell you about Ruby? How we’re hunting down Lilith? Because you’re too weak to go after her, Dean. You’re holding me back. I’m a better hunter than you are. Stronger, smarter. I can take out demons you’re too scared to go near. I’m not some fucking prissy ass bitch who has to bend over a table to get what I want. Some of us actually _work_ for things, Dean. You’re too busy sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. Whining about all those souls you tortured in hell, flinching at everything that moves too fast, hating yourself for taking it up the ass. Boo-hoo.”

Dean throws his knife across the room at Sam, but it misses. Then he charges him and they start punching each other in the face. He throws Dean across the room, but then Dean shoves him through the door, and Sam’s in a lot of pain but he tries his best to stop Bobby from throwing an ax in Nick’s back and—

Oh god. What the fuck.

Sam’s so embarrassed and so sorry, and he’s grateful when Bobby doesn’t say anything about him and Dean both being under the influence of a male siren. He’s sure Bobby knows about Dean, but it would suck for Dean not to be able to come out to him on his own terms.

“You going to say goodbye to Cara?”

Oh good. Dean’s not talking about all the horrible shit they just said to each other a couple hours ago. Shove it under the rug like usual, all right. “Nah.”

“Really, why not?”

“Not interested. What’s the point?”

“Well, look at you. Love ‘em and leave ‘em.”

All right, he can’t take it. “Dean, look, you know I didn’t mean the things I said back there, right? It was just the siren’s spell talking, and I would never—”

“Of course. Me too.”

“OK. So…we’re good?”

Dean sighs and answers, “Yeah, we’re good” with less sincerity than Sam’s heard from him in a long time.

Fucking sirens.

 

* * *

 

“You sure you want me coming with you? Sure I’m not holding you back?”

“Dude, can we get past this? I’ve told you a hundred times, that was the siren talking, not me.”

Dean hears what Sam’s saying, but he can’t get the fucking siren’s words out of his head. They’ve been replaying over and over for a week, reconfirming everything Dean’s believed about himself recently. If Sammy doesn’t believe in Dean, well, then…Dean’s got nothing.

He knows he’s being insecure and that—that just makes it worse. He already hates himself, but feeling insecure? That's never really been his thing.

They end up calling Pamela to help with the case. People aren’t dying in this town, which means there’s a reaper not doing its job, and if the reaper dies then another seal is broken and Lilith keeps on moving toward victory. So yeah, they’re desperate and in need of a plan and the only one they’ve got is talking to the last person who died.

Which means they have to die. Which means they need Pamela’s help.

“You boys sure this is a good idea?”

“No, but we trust you,” Dean answers with his most winning smile.

“You know I can’t see that smug look on your face, Dean.”

“Yeah, but you can hear it. What happens if this doesn’t work, Pamela?"

“I guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

That doesn’t scare Dean as much as it should, but he really does trust Pamela. Without saying very much to him at all, she seems to _get_ Dean in a way that nobody else does. He can’t put his finger on it, but there’s definitely something there that makes him feel safe. Maybe it’s because he thinks she might be bisexual, too.

It doesn’t feel any different being dead. It’s hilarious to stick his arm through Sam’s chest and make jokes about being inside him, but then the fun’s over when Sam responds, “I didn’t think you liked being inside guys,” and the best response Dean can come up with is, “Well, _you_ —like being inside guys.”

They don’t see anything suspicious for a while, and Dean gets bored and suggests they go spy on some lingerie stores. Sam ignores him.

After walking halfway across the town, they finally find the last kid who died. They talk to him for nearly an hour before he panics, says, “They’re back,” and disappears. There’s a gust of wind and a flash of light.

“Hey! Hey, we need to talk to you!” Dean yells at what he suspects is a reaper.

They’re standing at the top of the stairs. A beautiful, otherworldly creature with no discernible gender.

Dean’s immediately transfixed.

“Dean."

“Do I know you?”

“We go way back. You don’t remember?”

God, he damn sure _wishes_ he did. How could he forget a face like that? “Honestly, if I had a nickel for every time I heard a person say that…You’re going to have to freshen my memory.”

The reaper steps forward deliberately and kisses Dean gently on the lips. He’s not afraid. The kiss is warm and relaxing and after just a second his memories flood back.

Tessa. The reaper he met in the hospital when he was dying.

“That’s one of my names. Yeah.”

“You know her-m—them?” Sam stumbles.

“Yeah. This is the reaper that tried to take me in the hospital.” The memory is not so much painful as it is regretful.

They argue with Tessa about taking the kid until they agree to wait on reaping him. Sam goes to talk to him, and Tessa just stares at Dean expecting him to say something.

Finally, they say, “You’re the one that got away, Dean. You’d be surprised how little that happens to me.”

“Can I tell you something, between you and me?”

“Who am I going to tell?”

“After our little…experience, I felt like I had this hole in my gut. Like I was missing something. I didn’t know what. Do you know what it was? It was you. The pain of losing my father, and Sammy—I just—I wish I’d gone with you for good.” He expects Tessa to say something, but they just quirk a smile and keep right on staring, so Dean continues. “But I guess things are different now.”

“What? The angels on your shoulder?”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, most of them I’ve met are dicks with wings, but still. You know, I’ve done things. Horrible things. And someone upstairs still decided to give me a second chance. It just makes me feel…I don’t know.”

“Uh-huh.”

Uh-huh? That’s all this surreal being has to say to him? There’s no comfort, no explanation? If a creature with power over death doesn’t have answers, then…then what? It seems like absolutely no one can offer Dean anything.

Sam and the kid show up then, and Dean doesn’t get to talk to Tessa again.

And then suddenly they’re in a funeral home. They’re in a funeral home and there are demons trying to kill the reapers—including Tessa.

Alastair shows up.

“It’s good to see you again, Dean. I’ve missed you in hell.” He runs a finger down Dean’s face, and—

Dean feels nothing. He’s absolutely numb to Alastair’s advances.

Huh.

They can’t save the first reaper. Alastair’s got his knife to Tessa’s throat, and he’s chanting some gibberish, and Sam gives Dean a look and they work together to telepathically drop a chandelier on the sigil and they all manage to escape and Dean’s—Dean is feeling better than he has in a while. He's really glad they could save Tessa.

Except Sam is missing, and Dean runs into Alastair again.

“You can’t run, Dean. Not from me. I’m inside that angsty little noggin of yours. I know _every single_ insecurity. I know exactly which buttons to press, and Dean—we’re going to have a _good_ time now.”

Dean’s first instinct is fear, but he ignores it for his second instinct—apathy. He’s rolling his eyes when suddenly a bolt of lightning strikes Alastair and he disappears.

“What the hell?”

“Guess again.”

Dean recognizes the voice immediately. Stupid _Castiel._ He doesn’t know if that was a joke or a literal statement, but he’s happy to see the stupid angel either way. “Are you wondering what just happened? You and Sam just saved a seal. We captured Alastair. Dean, this was a victory.”

Dean really doesn’t have time for this. He knows this fucking game. “No thanks to you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You were here the whole time.”

“Enough of it,” Castiel admits.

“Well, thanks for your help.”

“That script on the funeral home—we couldn’t penetrate it.”

“Please don’t ever use the word ‘penetrate’ again.”

Castiel just gives him a confused look in response.

“Whatever. That was angel proofing?"

“Why do you think I recruited you and Sam in the first place?”

“ _You_ recruited us?”

“That wasn’t your friend Bobby that called you."

“That was you.”

Castiel looks at the ground, presumably in shame.

“If you wanted our help, why the hell didn’t you just ask?”

“Because whatever I ask, you seem to do the exact opposite,” Castiel answers in frustration, almost like he’s scolding a child.

Dean _really_ doesn’t have time for this. “So, what now? People in this town are just going to start dying again?”

“Yes.”

“These are good people. Don’t you think you could make a few exceptions?”

“To everything there is a season.”

He shouldn’t say it, but he does anyway. “You made an exception for me.”

There’s a long pause. “You’re different.”

Castiel disappears. _God,_ what Dean would give for a fucking explanation. He’s not special or different—why is everyone treating him like he’s special? How in the fuck does he actually _matter_ in the grand scheme of things?

And before he can even go about answering any of his own questions, Tessa shows up and asks for his help reaping the kid.

When the job’s done, Tessa tells Dean to stop lying to himself.

“What are you saying?”

“Second chances, the angels have something good in store—it’s just lies, Dean. False comforts. There’s no such thing as miracles. Deep down, everybody’s just…scared. You know what’s down that road, and it is dark and unkind to you. Trust your instincts, Dean.”

Somehow, weirdly enough, Dean takes this cryptic message as a comfort. Maybe it’s just the smooth ambiguous lilt of Tessa’s voice fooling him, but for some reason he trusts this being right now.

Yeah, dark road ahead. Sure. _Bring it on.  
_

There’s a voice in Dean’s ear—Pamela’s voice—and he wakes up in a motel bed.

Pamela’s bleeding out.

There’s nothing they can do.

“Do me a favor and tell that Bobby Singer to go to hell for ever introducing me to you boys. I didn’t want anything to do with this.”

“If it’s any consolation, you’re going to a better place,” Dean lies.

Pamela doesn’t buy it. She leans forward and whispers something serious in Sam’s ear before she breathes her last.

Sam doesn’t tell Dean what she said.

Dean’s getting really fucking sick of burying friends.

 

* * *

 

“You like the older Winchester.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“What is it about him, Castiel? You’ve been all…tense and stone-faced since you pulled him out of hell. Worried somebody upstairs might think you’re falling for a human?”

Castiel rolls his eyes and turns away from Uriel. He doesn’t have the patience for this. “My enjoyment of Dean as a human being has nothing to do with our mission.”

“So you do _enjoy_ him, then?”

“I suggest you stop talking before Sam and Dean return here.”

Uriel just laughs, and Castiel ignores him.

He’d much rather sit in this small motel room in silence than have this conversation with Uriel. Over the past several weeks, many angels in his garrison have grown...suspicious of his "attachment" to Dean Winchester. They know about the mark on his shoulder, and that's really how it all started. _Why'd you do it, Cas? Why is he so special to you, Castiel? What is it that you expect from him?_ He can't really respond honestly because the angels might get a _little_ upset with him if he said, "Dean Winchester's soul is a beacon of light and goodness that I cannot help but feel compelled to worship." So he just avoids the conversation altogether.

When the Winchesters return, Dean immediately begins yelling.

Castiel can understand. It must be difficult to put to rest a friend knowing that it is your fault they died. But emotions must be put aside when the mission outweighs personal situations.

“Dean, we know this is difficult to understand,” Castiel says.

“And _we_ don’t care,” Uriel finishes.

Castiel hates this. He _does_ care. He cares more than he should. But he has to pretend. The best he can do is stand in the corner and not make eye contact with anyone. The mission. The mission, orders—that’s what matters.

They explain that they have Alastair captured but cannot force information out of him. Dean’s face is unreadable when they ask him to…use what he learned in hell on Alastair.

“Dean. You’re our best hope,” Castiel states truthfully.

“No. You can’t ask me to do this, Cas, not this.”

Castiel has the sudden impulse to embrace Dean. Or perhaps put as much distance between himself and Dean as possible. He is unsure which. It’s the first time Dean calls him ‘Cas.’ He wonders what that means.

“Who said anything about asking?” Uriel says slowly before they fly to where they’re holding Alastair. They leave Sam at the motel.

Dean asks to speak with Castiel alone. Before he leaves, Uriel tells Dean he’s starting to like him. There’s a strange sensation in Castiel’s borrowed chest at the comment. He ignores it.

“What’s going on, Cas? Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?"

This is not exactly the question he anticipated, but he knows it would not be useful to lie in this circumstance. “My superiors have begun to question my sympathies.”

“Sympathies?”

Too late to back out now. “I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You. They feel I’ve begun to express emotions, doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment.”

Dean doesn’t seem affected by this confession, and Castiel is not sure how he _feels_ about this. Feelings—human emotions—are still so foreign to him. But Dean pulls more out of him every time they interact and it is unnerving.

“Cas, you do not want me doing this.”

The nickname again. “Wanting, of course not. I’ve been told by my superiors that we need it.” He’s never disagreed with a heavenly decision more. He wishes there was a way to save Dean from this, but they don’t have a choice. Apparently.

“If I open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks out,” Dean says with conviction.

“For what it’s worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.” _And there’s nothing you can do that would make me not like you._

Dean turns and gives Castiel a skeptical look. “You really do mean that?”

“Of course.”

“You’re fucking weird, Cas.”

Castiel smiles because although he is not entirely sure what Dean means by that, it still makes his chest do a different type of feeling than the one before—a more pleasurable feeling.

Dean just shakes his head, closes his eyes and turns to the door.

Castiel feels something he’s never felt before—something so potent it physically pains his vessel—when he hears the screams through the door.

Forty years. Forty years his charge had to first endure this and then _do_ this. Forty years, and now they are forcing him to do it again.

Castiel could kill his superiors for this.

Before Castiel has time to get irrationally upset, Anna appears in the same vessel she had before.

“You kept your body?”

“What can I say? I’m sentimental.”

“We still have orders to kill you.”

“Somehow I don’t think you’ll try.”

She’s right, of course. Castiel has no willpower to do anything he’s supposed to be doing at this moment in time. All he's thinking about is the screams through the wall. All he's thinking about is Dean Winchester.

“Why are you letting Dean do this?”

Castiel is beginning to wonder when his patience will cease to be tested on this planet. “He’s doing God’s work.” It sounds like a lie when he says it.

“Torturing? That’s _God’s_ work? Stop him, Cas. Please. Before you ruin the one real weapon you have.”

Oh. A weapon? _That’s_ how Anna sees Dean?

There’s a particularly horrible scream, and Castiel finds it difficult to focus on his conversation with Anna.

She tells him that the thing he is feeling is doubt.

He doesn’t mention that he is feeling more than one thing.

There’s a crash and another scream and—that’s Dean’s voice.

Castiel flies as fast as he can to the room, and his vessel nearly freezes up at the sight of Alastair holding Dean by the throat and whispering something in his ear.

Castiel panics and stabs in the wrong place. He twists the knife but it’s no use. His vessel is weak from all the emotion he’s allowed into it, weak from hurting for Dean, weak with “doubt.” Alastair hangs him onto a wall by the back of his coat and starts reciting an incantation to send him back to heaven. The selfish part of him wants it to work. He doesn’t want to have to sit here and watch Alastair torture and kill Dean. But then Sam shows up.

Sam Winchester kills Alastair. Castiel watches. He is terrified of his power. If the younger Winchester is doing what he thinks he's doing...then they have a lot bigger problems than originally suspected.

It's a blur getting Dean to the hospital. In a fit of rage akin to Dean's, Sam demands that Castiel heal his brother. As desperately as he would like to, he simply cannot.

“This whole thing was pointless,” Sam says sternly.

Castiel doesn’t want to believe it. He doesn’t want to believe that they made Dean do this for nothing. He’s experiencing something—like doubt.

He stays in the hospital for a long time after Sam leaves. Dean doesn’t wake up, and Castiel is glad. He has no idea what he would say to him, and he would much rather sit here and watch him sleep. It's the only time Dean really looks at peace, and Castiel is getting better at keeping his nightmares at bay. Sure, he cannot help Dean have a restful night of sleep  _every_ night, but a few hours of calm dreams once or twice a week is doing wonders for Dean's health as far as Castiel can tell. Absolutely nobody knows that he does this for his charge. Nobody can ever know.

Uriel is sitting on a park bench out in the snow. Castiel tells him he thinks God is not the one giving orders anymore. He decides right there in the moment that maybe they are being punished. Maybe it is heaven they are fighting against. Doubt, doubt, doubt. He is on a dangerously slippery slope and...he does not care.

“Well I won’t wait to be gutted,” Uriel says seriously before leaving.

Castiel has to find Anna. He has to find Anna to sort out—to figure out what it is he is _feeling.  
_

“I’m considering disobedience,” he tells her.

“Good.”

“No, it isn’t. For the first time I feel…” No, that’s all he needs to say. For the first time he _feels._

“It gets worse. Choosing your own course of action—your own life—is confusing. Terrifying.”

He only kind of understands what she means. Her human experience was definitely a lot more trying and convoluted than most. Even by human standards. She has never fit the mold of angel or human, and Castiel is not sure he wants to know how well _he_ fits the mold. He does not need things to be more complicated than they already are. Anna moves close to Castiel, and he instinctively rejects her touch.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re too good for my help. I’m just trash, a walking blasphemy.”

“Anna, please. I don’t know what to do. Please tell me what to do.” He would get on his knees if that position weren’t reserved exclusively for worshiping the Father.

“No. I’m sorry. It’s time to think for yourself.”

She disappears.

Castiel returns to the place of Alastair’s torture and death. A leaky pipe. A leaky pipe, a human failure, almost cost Dean his life. Castiel does not like earth very much at all. Everything seems to be a problem here, even the smallest details.

Uriel comes, and Castiel is not surprised.

They’ve been brothers, serving together, fighting the good fight for what feels like forever. Yet when Castiel recognizes that Uriel has betrayed his trust, and when Uriel admits that the plan was for Dean to die, any sort of angelic affection he might have had for him dies in exchange for a very human feeling of—rage. Rage like Dean losing Pamela, rage like Sam nearly losing Dean. Rage like Castiel being betrayed by his own brothers and sisters at nearly the cost of his charge’s life.

Uriel explains that he cannot stand how God made humans lesser than angels and yet loves them more.

“Are you trying to convert me?” Castiel asks in as neutral of a tone as possible.

Uriel responds in the affirmative by explaining that he is trying to raise up Lucifer.

Lucifer, who didn’t bow to humanity like he was supposed to.

And Castiel, who bows to humanity when he is not supposed to.

No, Castiel knows what side he has chosen. He is not sad to see his brother die. They served well together, yes, but that was then. That was before Dean.

The first place he goes is back to the hospital. He sits in the chair in Dean’s room and waits for several hours for the man to wake up.

When he finally stirs, Castiel asks, “Are you all right?” because he thinks that is the customary thing to say when someone has been hurt.

“No thanks to you.”

He is getting "tired" of Dean saying that to him. “You need to be more careful.”

“You need to learn how to manage a damn devil’s trap.”

“That’s not what I mean. Uriel is dead.”

“Demons?”

“It was disobedience. He was working against us.” _Us._ _Us, Dean. I am on your side._

“Is it true? Did I break the first seal? Did I start all of this?”

Castiel tries not to let the break in Dean’s voice affect his vessel. “Yes.” He still has not grasped how to lie to Dean. “When we discovered Lilith’s plan for you, we laid siege to hell. We fought our way to get to you before you—”

“Jumpstarted the apocalypse?”

Castiel stares at the ceiling. If they had just—if he had been called sooner. Six other angels before him tried to rescue Dean and failed. If only Castiel had been the first in line. But he is obedient and he is a good soldier, and he waited his turn like he was supposed to. He wishes he had disobeyed. He did not know what disobedience really was then.

“We tried to get there sooner.”

“Why didn’t you just leave me there then?"

 _Because your soul was never meant to be in that awful place, and I could not have left you there even if my life depended on it._ “It’s not blame that falls on you, Dean. It’s fate. The righteous man who begins it is the only one who can finish it. You have to stop it.”

“Lucifer? The apocalypse? What does that mean?”

Castiel does not have an answer.

“Hey. Don’t you go disappearing on me, you son of a bitch, _what does that mean?”_

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!”

“I don’t. Dean, they don’t tell me much. I know our fate rests with you.”

“Well then, you guys are screwed.”

Castiel turns his eyes away from Dean. He can’t handle how his hopelessness makes him feel. He can’t handle feeling anything at all.

“I can’t do it, Cas. It’s too big. Alastair was right. I’m not all here—I’m not strong enough. I guess I’m not the man either of our dads wanted me to be. Find someone else. It’s not me.”

Castiel feels something new in his chest this time. However, he recognizes it immediately.

Heartbreak.

 

* * *

 

A new job. Director of marketing and sales at Sandover. Not too bad.

Dean Smith loves sitting at a desk all day, pacing around his cushy office while he makes phone calls, working late nights and not stopping to eat. He likes the guy who stops by every so often to talk about _Project Runway_ , and he’s thinking about asking out his new friend at the parent company who told him about the cleanse. He likes how similar they are, and he thinks they could have a nice emotional connection before they jump into bed together. 

He likes his secretary because she works hard and keeps a stoic attitude, and he especially liked the day she cornered him in the bathroom and sucked his dick. Cas might be kind of scary but she’s hot as hell and good at her job. And apparently she likes Dean.

What he doesn’t like is this dude from tech support who might be on some kind of hallucinogen by the way he’s staring at Dean in the elevator.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

“Save it for the health club, pal.” No, Dean would remember a face like that on a giant like this guy.

Dean Smith goes home to his 4,000-square foot, brand new house and starts preparing himself for the cleanse tomorrow. He runs the dishwasher and throws in the compost food that will go bad in the time he spends on the cleanse. Then he showers, puts on a robe and curls up on his couch to read a book before he has to go to sleep.

He gets distracted thinking about the guy on the elevator of all people. Probably because he was the last person he talked to today.

Definitely not because he was weird and a little creepy and attractive as fuck.

Not Dean's type at all. Too rough around the edges. Probably straight. Not a good idea.

But the way his chest filled out that ugly polo...

Damn it. Dean absolutely hates jacking off after he's already showered. Fuck the elevator guy for this mess.

The next morning is strange without his coffee. He is a creature of routine, and this cleanse is going to drastically change what he’s accustomed to every day. At least he’s still got the paper and NPR on the radio as he drives.

Cas asks him if he wants coffee when he gets to his office, and he tells her, “Not today, sweetheart.”

She tilts her head and pinches her eyebrows together before saying, “Yes, sir,” and turning to go to her desk.

Dean laughs to himself at how cute his secretary can be while maintaining her serious demeanor. Maybe she’ll follow him to the bathroom again today…

The creepy dude is in the elevator again.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Um. The faster he can get out of here the better.

A guy in tech support shoves his head in a microwave to kill himself. He was slated to retire in two weeks.

Dean finds the guy from the elevator looking past all the commotion and staring right at him. Maybe he should consider talking to him after all.

It’s not really Dean’s area of expertise when Ian from tech support starts having a nervous breakdown in his office. He just needed some paperwork redone, and this guy is acting like he just killed somebody and didn’t hide the body well enough. Dean tries his best to calm him down, but the guy just runs out of the room.

Cas gives Dean a curious look as he passes her on the way to the bathroom to follow Ian. She doesn’t ask what’s going on.

It’s so cold in the bathroom—eerily cold—and Ian’s just standing there and the sinks are acting weird and—

He stabs a pencil in his neck and starts bleeding out. Dean swears he sees—no. He doesn’t see anything.

Cas is the one who runs in and finds them. “Mr. Smith, are you all right?” she asks way too calmly as she helps him to his feet.

“I’m—I’m, yeah, um. Cas, would you call the police?”

Dean just watched a dude kill himself. He watched him kill himself, and then he very distinctly saw another man in the bathroom mirror. A man who wasn’t actually there.

He numbs himself for the rest of the day and tries to act stoic like his secretary, but when he gets home he starts hyperventilating the moment he walks in the door. He heaves up all the bile in his stomach and goes to bed sore in his chest. He doesn’t sleep.

The next day at work, Dean calls Sam Wesson to his office.

It turns out they both started working at Sandover three weeks ago, and they both have this weird instinct that…ghosts are real.

Dean’s so distracted by this new and strangely exciting situation that he doesn’t even remember to flirt with the guy. Hey, maybe if this place actually _is_ haunted, they can save the day and share an I-can’t-believe-we-survived kiss, and then the flirting won't even be necessary at all.

It’s unbelievably easy to run into the fucking ghost. A _ghost._ Jesus Christ.

On pure impulse, Dean picks up a wrench and swings it right through the ghost’s body, and the thing disappears. Huh.

“How’d you know how to do that?” Sam asks, sounding a little wrecked.

“I have no idea.”

“What do we do now?”

Dean just stares blankly at the man for a second and then blurts out, “Come back to my place. I mean—we’ll look into this more and see what we can find out. See if there’s a way to get rid of the thing.”

Sam just furrows his brow and nods.

On their way out, he tells Dean that he takes the train to work, so Dean offers him a ride, and Sam definitely holds back a laugh at his choice of transportation.

OK, maybe this guy isn’t as nice as Dean thought he was. If he can’t understand the economic and environmental value of driving a Prius, then how are they supposed to fight a ghost together?

“I am so fired up. I can’t believe this,” Dean announces when they get to his house. “I’d offer you something to drink, but I got rid of everything in the house for this cleanse thing. You ever done it before? It’s amazing.”

Sam actually does laugh at Dean this time, and suddenly Dean is feeling self-conscious for the first time in a long time. God, he’s got to get his shit together around this dude. He feels like the nerdy kid in grade school. Again.

But then suddenly Sam is opening up to him, and Dean has no idea how to respond.

“Do you ever feel like—I don’t know, like you’re destined for something bigger than this?”

“No. I don’t believe in destiny,” Dean answers honestly.

“I don’t know, man. I don’t like my job, I don’t like my clothes, I don’t even like my last name. I just feel like I was…destined for something else.”

Sam leans against the table next to Dean and stares off at nothing. Dean doesn’t really know what to say, so he tentatively covers Sam’s hand with his own in a gesture of comfort.

Sam just looks down at their hands and smiles weakly at Dean before standing up and pacing across the room. “So what do we do now?”

“We do what I do best, Sammy. Research.”

“Did you just call me Sammy?”

“Did I?” Dean asks with a shrug.

“Yeah. Don’t.”

All right, so he’s touchy, too. Good to know.

They don’t go to sleep. They do research well into the night and then when they finally feel ready they load up on coffee (Dean decides to fuck the cleanse for now) and drive back over to Sandover.

Once they’re inside, they split up, and Dean goes to search for the object that the ghost might be attaching itself to. It’s kind of definitely scary and a little crazy, but Sam shows up covered in blood right when Dean’s found the glove, and then the fucking ghost appears and attacks them and they fight it, they fight a fucking ghost.

It’s the most fun Dean’s ever had in his life.

“We should keep doing this,” Sam says seriously once they’re back in Dean’s office.

“What?”

“This. There must be other ghosts out there, other…things. You and I should go together and—”

“Are you crazy? How would we _live?_ In and out of motels, cheating people out of their money, eating crappy diner food every day of our lives? You don’t want to go fighting ghosts without any health insurance, Sam.”

Sam looks at Dean so sternly then that a shiver runs down Dean’s spine. He didn’t realize how closely they were sitting together on his desk. “I didn’t tell you…in my dreams, you were there. We were fighting monsters together. And we were…”

He pauses, and Dean has the sudden urge to kiss him. He doesn’t.

“We were really close. Like, _really_ close.”

Dean scoots a little closer.

“Almost like…brothers.”

OK wait, back up. Dean accidentally laughs.

“I know it’s ridiculous, but—”

“No, no, that’s not why I’m laughing. I thought you were about to drop a line on me.”

Sam just stares at him like he’s speaking another language.

“You know, hitting on me? I thought you were hitting on me.”

Now he looks horrified. “Oh god, no. I mean—sorry, I didn’t mean—it’s just—”

“Yeah, I know. We were brothers, that’s why I laughed. Don’t sweat it, dude.”

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles. “I don’t…I’m not—you know, gay.”

“I’m not either.”

There’s a long pause, and Sam makes a confused face at Dean, but Dean is so over explaining his (totally simple and normal) sexuality to people that he just doesn’t say anything.

Then Sam basically explodes. He starts talking about how he doesn’t feel like he is who he’s supposed to be, and he wants so desperately for Dean to feel the same.

But Dean doesn’t. He went to Stanford, has a loving family with his parents Bobby and Ellen and his sister Jo, is a good businessman who cares about the environment and doesn’t like messes. He had a decent childhood other than the bullying, he had his first gay panic in high school, he learned what bisexuality was his junior year of college and has never been the same. He's desperate for intimacy but has never been in a relationship that lasted longer than three months.

However…the things Sam is offering sound incredibly appealing for some unknown reason. Dean doesn’t tell him that though before Sam is calling him a corporate douchebag and Dean is telling him to get out of his office. Sam Wesson doesn’t know the first goddamn thing about Dean.

His boss offers him a promotion the very next day. It sounds awful. Dean declines without thinking about it at all. It's one of the easiest decisions he's made recently.

“What the fuck? Where the fuck—why am I wearing this? _God,_ why am I so hungry?”

The last thing Dean Winchester remembers is lying in a hospital bed talking to Cas. He had some pretty weird dreams, though.

“Oh god, you’re not some douchebag angel, are you?”

“I’m Castiel’s superior, Zachariah.”

“Yeah, Zachariah? Well, fuck you. What the hell _is_ this?”

“This was a test. To show that hunting is a part of you, Dean. No matter how much you try to escape it, you will return to it. Every time. No matter the circumstance. And it’s not because of your mom or because your dad dragged you into it—it’s because it’s _in your blood._ Do you understand me?”

“Why’d you make Cas a girl?” Dean deadpans.

It only takes Zachariah a moment to compose his annoyance at being so blatantly disrespected. “That wasn’t really Cas. Everything else—that was all real. Real company, real haunting. But I needed one more familiar person besides Sam.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

Zachariah looks ready to smite Dean right there. _Good,_ Dean thinks. “I couldn’t get the _real_ Castiel, so I had to fabricate one. Excuse me for being an angel and having no real concrete understanding of gender. I’ve never really cared much for such disgustingly human concepts.”

“Huh. Well, this has been fun. I’m going to get back to my real life now if that’s cool with you.”

“Dean. Wait.”

Dean turns and gives Zachariah the most bored expression he’s got. He is just so _over_ all of this.

“I know you’re scared, and I know you’ve got daddy issues and you can’t do it blah blah blah—but you have to look at the bigger picture here, Dean. You get to change things, maybe even save the world. All the while you drive a classic car and fornicate with women. This is a gift, Dean. There are plenty of fates worse than this.”

“And men.”

“Excuse me?”

“And men. You said I fornicate with women. I fornicate with men, too.”

Dean leaves before Zachariah thinks of anything else to say.

 

* * *

 

_Sam and Dean approached the ramshackle house and gave each other a skeptical look before they knocked. They had done this hundreds of times before, but this time was different. This time was—  
_

There’s a knock at the door.

Chuck Shurley is a starving artist who had one stroke of genius that won’t allow him to write anything else. He’s written dozens of these stupid books and makes almost no money off of them. The last few hundreds of thousands of words he’s written haven’t even been published. At this point, he's seriously starting to hate Sam and Dean's guts.

But he can’t stop writing. He can’t let go of this dumb, tragic story. He’s got nothing else.

When he opens the door, he does a double take and thinks he might be dreaming.

It’s Sam and Dean. He knows it before they tell him. Yeah, he’s dreaming.

Of course, just as he suspected, Sam and Dean do everything they can to convince him that they actually are who they say they are. It’s not until they say the name _Winchester_ that he really starts to believe them.

“I never wrote your last name in the books.”

Meeting his characters, this is…this is unreal. They’re exactly how he always imagined them, even down to Dean knowing Vonnegut and Sam being surprised by it. He might pass out.

“There’s only one explanation for this. I must be God.”

“All right, buddy, let’s not go too overboard. You’re probably just psychic. We need to see everything you’ve been writing lately, Chuck,” Dean tells him seriously.

Yeah, he knew this would happen, too. He really should’ve gotten the final drafts done before today. He’s evidently not a very competent god.

 

* * *

 

“What’s up with you? You’re acting weird.”

“What? Nothing. Where’s this comic book store again?”

“We’re three blocks away. You’re not still thinking about Sandover, are you?"

Dean can feel his cheeks redden. He and Sam had a good laugh about the creepy alternate universe they just escaped from, but Dean never asked Sam if he had met Cas. He doesn’t want to think about it, but he can’t seem to get her blue fucking eyes out of his head. Also, he jerked off thinking about his brother. But he's pretty sure he just dreamed that because he literally can't cope with that being reality.

Sam laughs before Dean even has a chance to respond.

“What?” Dean asks defensively.

“You thought I was hitting on you.”

“Hey! You know what—I was— _shut up, Sammy.”_

“I’m sorry, the look on your face was just—it was hilarious, man.”

“Can we please drop this? And never talk about it again? _Ever?”_

Sam’s quiet for a second, and then he says, “I liked Dean Smith. He was a cool guy.”

“He ate salad and drove a Prius.”

“He was comfortable in his own skin and confident in his identity.”

Dean turns a hard look on Sam and lets the silence sit for a while before he asks, “What about Sam Wesson? He wasn’t all that much different than you.”

“Probably because I’m exactly the way I’m supposed to be. You know, a freak or whatever."

They don’t talk about Sandover again after that.

Ten minutes later, they find out about the _Supernatural_ books, and Dean’s never been more embarrassed about anything in his life. Well, except maybe the jerking off to...

He skims through them as quickly as he can and thinks it’s just fucking great that their fan base knows that he takes it up the ass.

Fucking great.

Dean’s embarrassment is quickly overshadowed, however, by Sam’s discovery that their fans also write homoerotic stories about them on the Internet.

“They do know we’re brothers, right?” Dean asks. God, when is he going to get out of this traumatizing universe.

“Doesn’t seem to matter.”

"The things people will do for entertainment. Did you find any links to any of them?”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“I don’t know, it would be hilarious to see what people say about us and how they describe our relationship. I wonder how explicit the sex—”

“Are you sure you’re not still Dean Smith?”

Dean shuts up after that.

When they meet Chuck Shurley, Dean half expects him to be really judgmental. This guy apparently knows every sordid detail about their lives, all their insecurities and baggage and shortfalls—it would make sense for him to scoff at them and tell them they need to find a new lifestyle.

But he doesn’t. He’s neurotic and awkward and a very nice change of pace from what Dean’s used to with people who know him intimately. He makes Dean feel tough. Brave. In control.

Dean’s driving down the road with a sore back and pink band-aids on his face, and his back window is a fucking tarp. It’s at this point he decides that he was wrong about Chuck, and he actually hates his existence.

It’s somewhat of a relief when Cas shows up.

It’s less of a relief when Cas says that Chuck is a prophet. Dean supposes that compared to Chuck being god, this is a good alternative—but still not ideal. When Cas mentions that Chuck’s dumb books are going to be called the _Winchester gospel_ one day, Dean throws up in his mouth a little.

He rushes back to the hotel to tell Sam they have to leave _right now_ , and of course Sam says he’s staying.

He is so fucking sick of this same argument all the time. He doesn’t have the energy to fight Sam, and Sam doesn’t even have any fight in him anymore.

He’s desperate and lost and he feels the same way he did in that hospital a few weeks ago. Like he absolutely cannot do this. What happened to that confidence he was feeling a while ago? Oh right. Alastair happened.

For some goddamn reason the only solution he can come up with is probably the dumbest thing he’s ever done.

“Well, I feel stupid doing this, but I am fresh out of options. So please, I need some help. I’m praying, OK? C’mon. Please.”

Cas shows up within seconds, and Dean feels…embarrassed? Relieved?

“Prayer is a sign of faith. This is a good thing, Dean.”

God, what is it with this dude and _faith?_ Why does he care so much about Dean’s personal hang-ups?

“So does that mean you’ll help me?” Dean asks childishly.

“It’s a prophecy, Dean. There’s not much I can do.”

“You have tested me and thrown me every which way, and I have never asked for anything. Not a damn thing. But now I’m asking. I need your help. Please.”

“What you’re asking me—it’s not within my power to do.”

Dean explodes. He fucking hates when Cas pulls this shit. He hates how ridiculously useless angels have turned out to be. It’s like they pulled Dean out of hell just to make him their puppet and tell him no. He fucking hates Castiel.

But then something surprising happens.

“You misunderstand me, Dean.”

Dean turns back around and watches Cas closely as he explains that if anything interferes with divine prophecy, then the wrath of heaven will reign down on that being.

“Just so you understand…why I can’t help,” Cas finishes suspiciously.

OK so maybe this guy isn’t so bad after all. Maybe…maybe he’s playing for Dean’s team. No, that doesn’t sound right. Maybe he’s on their side. That’s better.

It takes some coaxing (threatening) to get Chuck to go with him, but once he does it’s pretty easy to bust in on Sam and Lilith and force Lilith out of her vessel.

Divine prophecy averted.

 

* * *

 

Sam and Dean never actually get to meet Adam Milligan.

Sam’s strangely disappointed about it as they give him a hunter’s funeral. It would’ve been cool to have a little brother.

“You know, I finally get why you and Dad butted heads so much,” Dean says as they watch their unknown brother’s body go up in flames. “You two are practically the same person. You know, I worshiped the guy, dressed like him, acted like him, listened to the same music. But you are more like him than I will ever be. I see that now.”

Well damn. That might not be a good thing. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You can take it any way you want.”

Oh. Not a compliment then.

Now that Sam thinks about it, he has no clue how Dean _actually_ feels about their dad. Just because he worshiped him doesn’t mean he liked him all that much. Maybe associating Sam with Dad makes it easier to—maybe it makes it easier to judge Sam harshly.

Maybe Dean’s got Sam up on a pedestal like he had their dad, so when Sam screws up, Dean thinks it’s way worse than it actually is.

Sam is scared to death of Dean finding out what exactly he’s been up to. Disappointing his big brother is high on his list of things not to do. Yet...he finds himself doing this shit more often than not. But then again, he's not the one who created the pedestal.

 

* * *

 

Dean’s not really surprised when Cas shows up in the middle of his dream. It was really just a matter of time before the angel surpassed personal space and went right on through to the subconscious. The dream is too good to be bothered by the interruption though, honestly.

Cas is so nervous as he tells Dean where to meet him that Dean jolts awake in bed and immediately wakes Sam up.

Jimmy Novak is definitely not who Dean expects to find.

It’s never really crossed his mind that Cas is in a vessel and that nothing physical about him is actually his. But now, Cas is gone and Dean’s finding it extremely difficult not to recognize those blue eyes looking back at him.

He supposes he got closer to Cas than he originally thought.

Yeah, he doesn’t like this.

Dean feels more emotionally conflicted than he’s felt in a long time when Cas—when Jimmy is dying and Cas is in the body of a 10-year-old girl.

On one hand, he wants to rush over to Jimmy and save him and take care of him because that’s _Cas_ bleeding out on the floor and Cas is his friend or something. But it’s not Cas. However, now he knows exactly how he would respond if Castiel ever got hurt one day. The thought scares him a little.

On the other hand, he can’t get over how weird it is to see Cas’ mannerisms on a little girl’s face. He privately hopes more than anything that Cas takes up Jimmy’s offer and goes back into his proper vessel because Dean’s not sure he could ever get used to a small child popping in and out of their lives for the indefinite future.

Cas answers Jimmy’s plea and returns to his body. Then he gets up and starts to leave like nothing happened.

“Cas, hold up,” Dean says. “What were you going to tell me?”

“I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean. I serve heaven, I don’t serve man. And I certainly don’t serve you.”

Well, that? Hurt more than it should.

But it’s quickly forgotten because of the image of Sammy with—

Surely he’s still just dreaming. Did he ever actually wake up from that fishing trip?

Sam with his mouth on a demon’s neck. Sam pulling away and turning with demon blood all over his mouth. Sam killing a demon with his mind like it’s nothing.

Sam drinks demon blood.

_Sam drinks demon blood._

They stop at a gas station. Dean goes to the bathroom and pukes until all that’s coming up is bile. He calls Bobby.

He doesn’t tell Sam anything.

 

* * *

 

_I’m not letting you out of here, Sam. Not until you dry out.  
_

_I’m not doing this because I’m some kind of junkie—I’m getting strong enough to kill Lilith. Or were you too busy being self-righteous to notice?_

_You think this makes you_ strong? _You’re weak, Sammy. And you just got yourself a benchwarmer’s seat to the apocalypse._

_We were supposed to be normal!_

_Well, we’re not normal. We’ve never been normal. There’s no escape from this. Grow up._

_What happened to us? You think Jess would like seeing you like this? If you hadn’t run off with Dean, you would’ve been there to protect her. If you hadn’t—  
_

_We’re not 14 years old anymore. Shut up. You don’t know what it’s like._

_Tell me something, Sam, why did you do this to yourself?_

_You know why._

_Right. Kill Lilith. The big excuse. But why? Revenge, right?_

_Of course._

_Revenge for what? Sending me to hell? You happen to notice I’m back? Alive and kicking. So what’s the point?  
_

_The point? How about stop the damn apocalypse?_

_My gig, not yours. The angels said so, remember? God picked me, man. So you got any other fantastic excuses?_

_Monster. You’re a monster, Sam. I tried so hard to pretend that we were brothers. That you weren’t one of the filthy things that we hunt. We’re not even the same species. You’re nothing to me.  
_

_Don’t say that to me. Don’t_ you _say that to me. Not after what we've _—not after what I've _—__  
_

_I can’t believe I ever thought you were better than me. I can’t believe I called you my brother._

* * *

“Get to the reason you really called me. It’s about Sam, right?”

“Can he do it? Kill Lilith, stop the apocalypse?”

“Possibly, yes. But as you know, he’d have to take certain steps. Consuming the amount of blood necessary to kill Lilith would change your brother forever. Most likely he would become the next creature you would feel compelled to kill. There’s no reason this would have to come to pass, Dean. We believe it’s you, Dean. Not your brother. The only question for us is whether you’re willing to accept it. Stand up and accept your role. You are the one who will stop it."

“If I do this, Sammy doesn’t have to?”

“If it gives you comfort to see it that way.”

“God, you’re a dick these days. Fine. I’m in.”

“Do you give yourself over wholly to the service of God and his angels?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Say it.”

“I give myself over wholly to serve God and you guys.”

“Do you swear to follow his will and his word as swiftly and obediently as you did your own father’s?”

“Yes, I swear. Now what?”

“Now you wait, and we call on you when it’s time.”

“Bobby, I won’t do this. I won’t sit around and watch my brother become a monster. I won’t let him do that to himself. Because he is my _brother.”_

_  
_

“How the hell did he get out?”

 

“Quit bossing me around. I’ve been following you all my life. You called the shots, I had to trust you. Now for once, please, trust _me.”_

“No. You don’t know what you’re doing, Sam.”

“Yes, I do!”

“Then that’s worse! Because it’s not what you’re doing, Sam, it’s what you _are._ It means—”

“What? Say it.”

“It means you’re a monster.”

 

“Fuck him. He can do what he wants.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes I do, Bobby. Sam’s gone. He’s gone. I’m not even sure he’s still my brother anymore. Or if he ever was.”

“You stupid, stupid son of a bitch! Well boo-hoo, I’m so sorry your feelings are hurt, princess. Are you under the impression that family’s supposed to make you feel _good?_ Make you an apple pie maybe? They’re supposed to make you miserable! That’s why they’re family!”

“I told him that if he walked out that door, don’t come back. And he walked out!”

“You sound like a whiny brat. No. You sound like your dad. Well, let me tell you something. Your dad was a coward.”

“My dad was a lot of things, Bobby, but a coward?”

“Your dad would rather push you and Sam away than reach out to you boys. Tell me how that’s brave. He was so up to his eyeballs in self-righteousness that he couldn’t accept and appreciate what was right in front of him. You are a better man than your daddy ever was. So do both of us a favor: don’t be him.”

 

“It’s all lies, you poor, stupid son of a bitch! It’s all a game to keep you and to keep me in line. It’s not real. But do you know what _is_ real? People. Families. That’s real, and that’s what you’re going to just sit back and let be destroyed?”

“What is so worth saving? I’ve been on earth, Dean, and all I see is pain. And suffering. I see you. I see your guilt. Your anger, confusion. In paradise, all is forgiven. You’ll be at peace. Even with Sam. Even with yourself.”

“You can take your peace and shove it up your lily-white ass. Because I’ll take the pain and the guilt—I’ll even take Sam as is. There’s a right and a wrong here, and you know it! This isn’t about being some good little soldier. Look at me! You know it. You were going to help me once, weren’t you? Well, help me now. _Please.”_

“If I do that, we will all be hunted for. We will all be killed.”

“If there’s anything worth dying for, this is it. You spineless, soulless son of a bitch. What do you care about dying? You’re already dead. We’re done.”

“Dean.”

“We’re done.”

 

“You guys aren’t supposed to be here. You’re not in this story."

“Yeah, well, we’re making it up as we go.”

Everything stops.

For the first time in days, Dean takes a deep breath and _pauses._

_We’re making it up as we go._

They might actually win this. Cas is actually on their side. Cas actually isn’t the soulless robot Dean thought he was. They might actually win this.

“It’s the archangel! I’ll hold them off, I’ll hold them all off! Just stop Sam!”

Cas pushes his palm into Dean’s forehead and when Dean opens his eyes he’s not in Chuck’s house anymore. He’s in the convent.

But he’s too late. Lilith’s already dead. Killing Ruby is satisfying, sure, but Sam barely even gets out an “I’m sorry” before the whole place starts to shake.

Dean thinks, even if they’ve lost, it’s a pretty damn good way to go out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginning of season 5

When Dean Winchester was 10 years old, his father asked him to take care of Sam while he “took care of some business for a day or two.” Knowing that this was his opportunity to prove himself worthy, Dean was determined to make sure that Sam stayed safe and happy.

They were at a playground. Dean was swinging and watching Sam alternate between going down the slide and playing on the monkey bars. After about half an hour, Sam’s hand slipped on a monkey bar and he fell face first into the rubber ground.

He was fine. Or at least Dean thought he was fine. It wasn’t until Sam flipped over that Dean saw the blood pouring out of his knee like it would never stop.

Dean had never seen that much blood before, including that time his dad came home with blood that wasn't his all over the front of his shirt.

A mom saw what had happened and called an ambulance once Dean told her that he and Sam were alone. His dad had shown up at the hospital while Sam was getting stitched up, and he took Dean out in the hallway and yelled at him until the hospital staff told him he needed to calm down.

The last thing he said to Dean was, “Get out of here. Don’t come back until you’re ready to be a man and learn how to take care of your brother.”

Dean didn’t know where to go, so he called Bobby.

He liked Bobby, for the most part. The guy was a little grumpy and a little strange, but he was kind to Dean and never raised his voice.

Dean stayed at Bobby’s house for four days before his dad and Sam came to pick him up.

During those four days, Bobby insisted that they do things like go to the park and play catch, sit down in an ice cream shop and try different flavors, watch television together in the afternoons. Bobby even asked Dean to help him make lunch and cook dinner, and that’s when Dean learned how to use a grill and how to flip pancakes.

On day two, Dean asked Bobby why they were doing all this.

“Doing all what?”

“I don’t know, cooking and going to the park and stuff. Shouldn’t I be…learning how to use a knife or something?”

“You’re in my house right now, son, and in my house you’re a kid. Quit worrying about your responsibilities and go stir that pasta.”

“But does that mean…never mind.”

“No, no, you already started. Go ahead and spit it out.”

“Does that mean we can do things that—that _I_ want to do?”

“Well, that depends. What is it you’d like to do, Dean?”

“I want new clothes. Ones for Sammy, too. Can we go shopping?”

Bobby sighed and rubbed his temples before telling Dean that yes, of course they could go shopping. But nothing too fancy.

The next day, Dean was more excited than he had felt in his entire life. He had never gotten to pick out clothes for himself before. Ones that he actually liked and not just what his dad told him to get.

When they got to the mall, Dean dragged Bobby around and went to pretty much every single store in the place. He bought a Godzilla t-shirt for himself and a Star Wars one for Sam with a picture of Yoda on it because he was Sam’s favorite character.

He got them both a few pairs of jeans—a size too big for Sam so he could grow into them.

Bobby let him pick out two pairs of tennis shoes, and he even let him get some kids’ version of Air Trainers for Sam.

There was a store with a huge picture of a little girl in the window, and she was smiling out at Dean and wearing a pink, slightly sparkly sweater with a purple collar.

Dean wanted that sweater.

When he started to drag Bobby into the store, Bobby stopped and said, “Hold on there, boy, you sure you want to go in there?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, because…that store is for girls. What do you think you’re going to find in there?”

Dean pointed at the girl in the window. “I like that sweater.”

Bobby stared up at the picture and pondered it for a moment before responding, “All right, let’s get you that sweater.”

They couldn’t find the exact one, but they found a bright green one almost just like it.

Dean was wearing the sweater when his dad picked him up. He tried to—he tried to get it off in time before his dad saw him, but it was too late. He knew it was a mistake.

But he just _really_ liked that sweater.

He sat in the car next to Sam and didn’t say anything as he waited for his dad to come out of Bobby’s house. He could see them arguing with each other through the window, and he knew what it was about, he knew it was his fault, he knew his dad was going to be upset, he knew he would never see that sweater again.

Dean didn’t see Bobby for a long time after that.

His dad didn’t let them keep any of the clothes.

 

* * *

 

Dean hates airplanes.

That’s the first thought Sam has when he realizes they’re in one.

Not _what the fuck_ or _where the hell are we_ or _did we just die_.

But _Dean hates airplanes._

Dean hates airplanes, and now this one is going down.

They pull on their oxygen masks and close their eyes and Sam’s pretty sure he feels Dean’s hand grabbing the front of his shirt.

The plane doesn’t crash, but it might as well have.

Dean hates airplanes.

But he doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t talk much about anything at all. He’s got that look of quiet determination on his face that makes Sam incapable of saying anything because he knows all he’s going to get in response is, “Can we just focus on what’s at hand?” They have to find Cas, and that seems to be the only thing Dean cares about.

They get all the way to Chuck’s house without saying more than three sentences to each other. The place is a wreck, and Sam is pretty certain somebody must’ve died here.

“Sam!” Chuck exclaims after hitting Sam in the head with a plunger. “You’re OK.”

“Well, my head hurts.”

“No, no, I mean—my last vision. You went full-on Vader. Your body temperature was at 150, your heart rate was 200. Your eyes went black!”

“Your eyes went black?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t know,” Sam answers truthfully.

He suspected, sure. He knew there was something else in him—controlling him when he killed Lilith, but he didn’t realize…

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asks Chuck.

“Dead. The archangels smote the shit out of him.”

Fuck. Sam was actually really starting to like Castiel. It’s the first time he’s felt bad about seeing an angel go. He turns to Dean because he knows he was closer to Cas than Sam was, and sure enough he looks like the world just came crashing down around him. Which, if Sam’s looking at the bigger picture here, it did.

“Cas, you stupid bastard.”

“Stupid? According to you, he was trying to help us.” Sam hates when his brother lashes out at people for being dead.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“So what now?”

“I don’t know.”

Chuck says, “Oh god,” right before there’s the all-too-familiar sound of wings flapping, and Zachariah and two of his henchmen are right there in the living room.

Sam’s never actually met Zachariah, but he’s heard enough about him from Dean to recognize him immediately. He’s not impressed.

“You want to kill the devil, we want you to kill the devil. We’re back on the same side now, Dean,” Zachariah says like he’s talking to children.

“I thought I told you before, I don’t pick sides.”

Zachariah doesn’t get the joke, and when Dean looks to Sam for back-up, Sam just rolls his eyes.

Dean continues more seriously, “Whatever it is you want from us, I’m saying no.”

Sam is glad to see his brother standing his ground, but he’s nervous for himself. These angels must know what Sam has done, and they could decide right here to waste him just like they did to Cas. They’re huge assholes, and they’re huge assholes who don’t really care all that much for Sam.

Lucky for him, his brother’s a genius and remembered the sigil Anna used to banish Uriel and Cas a while back (or maybe Dean asked Cas about it at some point?) so when Zachariah gets out of hand, Dean just slams his bloody hand into the door and the angels vanish.

“Learned that from my friend Cas, you son of a bitch,” Dean says to the empty room.

Later, as Sam and Dean are settling into a motel for the night, Sam stupidly mentions Ruby and Dean responds, “Speaking of, how are you doing? Jonesing for another hit of bitch blood or what?”

“It’s weird. To tell you the truth, I feel fine. No shakes, no fever. It’s like whoever put us on that plane cleaned me right up.” Since it’s already been brought up, Sam feels compelled to keep talking about it. “Dean—”

“Sam. It’s OK. You don’t have to say anything,” Dean cuts him off awkwardly.

“Well, that’s good. ‘Cause what can I even say? I’m sorry? I screwed up? Doesn’t really do it justice, you know? Look, there’s nothing I can do or say that can ever make this right again—”

“Then why do you keep bringing it up?”

Sam has the urge to shrink at the intensity of Dean’s words. But he has to talk about this. _They_ have to talk about this. But he really doesn't know what to say.

“Look, all I’m saying is, why do we have to keep putting this under a microscope? Made a mess, clean it up, that’s it. All right, so say this is just any other hunt. What do we do first?”

Sam knows the conversation’s over. It’s hard to get back on track when Dean switches into big brother mode like that. Maybe after some time has passed, he’ll be more willing to talk about it.

They go to opposite sides of the room to do research. Dean falls asleep after an hour.

There’s a knock on the door, and Dean sits up in bed while Sam tentatively opens it.

“You’re Sam Winchester. And you’re—not what I pictured. Sorry. Dean.”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

The girl pushes her way past Sam and into their room with confidence. Normally he’d be more wary, but this chick is barely as high as his elbow, and she’s got a soft smile that has a weird calming effect on Sam.

“I’m Becky,” she says with a firm handshake. “I was contacted by Mr. Edlund to send you guys a message. I’ve read all the _Supernatural_ books, and I’ve writ—well, that’s not important. Um, anyway, Mr. Edlund is in hiding so he contacted me.”

“Chuck? What did he say?” Dean asks as he stands and moves closer to Becky and Sam.

“He said he had a vision about the angels. Nice addition to the mythology, by the way. The demons were getting a little old. Anyway, he said that the Michael sword is on earth.”

“The Michael sword?”

“Yeah, and then he gave this cryptic message that doesn’t make any sense.”

Becky tells them some nonsense about a hill made of 42 dogs, and then she apologizes for not having an explanation. Sam tells her it’s all right, they’ve heard weirder, and her face lights up at that. Dean rolls his eyes probably because he’s not the one getting all the attention from the pretty girl in the room, and then Becky shakes their hands again, thanks them and leaves.

They call Bobby for help, and luckily he’s nearby so it only takes him a few minutes to get to their motel.

Sam’s relieved to see him. The last time he saw Bobby, it was…not great. Bobby had threatened to shoot Sam, and Sam was so tired and broken that he had grabbed the barrel of the gun and shoved it into his own chest with the assured hope that Bobby wouldn’t actually shoot him. It was really fucking hard to see that disappointment in Bobby’s eyes, the shake in his voice—so to hug him now feels like his dad forgiving him.

Sam still feels terrible, and so he spills about everything. He apologizes for it all, telling Bobby exactly why all of this is his fault. Lilith’s death was the final seal, and Bobby needs to know that it’s Sam’s fault that Lucifer is free. Sam’s fault. He brought this on. He didn't listen to Bobby or Dean or anybody. His fault.

“You’re damn right you didn’t listen. You were reckless and selfish and arrogant. You’re _sorry_ you started Armageddon? This kind of thing don’t get forgiven, boy. If by some miracle we pull this off, I want you to lose my number. You understand me?”

Sam can’t breathe. His throat’s closing up, and he feels worse than he did when Dean told him never to come back.

He desperately needs someone, _anyone,_ to forgive him.

 

* * *

 

Dean’s pretty damn sure that Bobby isn’t Bobby right now. There’s no way in hell he’d say the things to Sam he just said, and Dean can’t wait to kill whatever it is that’s using his skin.

But first, they have to figure out this dumb message. Dean’s got to keep up appearances until shit really hits the fan. It doesn’t take long.

He doesn’t have a chance to get a weapon in his hand before Bobby slams him into the wall and then holds him by the throat. The door swings open and three demons walk in, the first of which is a girl Dean doesn’t recognize.

“I always knew you were a stupid, dimwitted excuse for a hunter, but I had no idea you were so VIP,” she says smugly as she picks up Ruby’s knife. “ _You?_ You’re going to ice the devil? If I had known that, I would’ve ripped off your pretty, pretty face ages ago.”

“Ruby,” Dean grits out.

“Try again. Go back further.”

Shit. “Meg.”

She tells him every demon is in line waiting for a piece of him, and he tries not to squirm at how uncomfortable that makes him feel. “Get in line,” he says instead.

“Oh, I’m in the front of the line, baby.” Meg grabs his cheeks between her thumb and forefinger and forces her lips onto his.

It’s the most violated Dean’s felt since—in a long time. He tries not to pass out.

“You know, your surrogate daddy’s still awake, screaming in there. And I want him to know how it feels to slice the life out of you.” She hands the knife over to not-Bobby, and his eyes go black as he places the weapon against Dean’s neck and forces him back against the wall.

“Bobby! Bobby—Bobby, listen to me! Bobby, you can’t do this.” _You practically raised me, you let me be myself when my dad wouldn’t let me, you taught me how to be a kid, you treated me like more than just a machine, you made me feel valuable, I haven't even gotten the chance to come out to you yet—  
_

Bobby sinks the knife into his own gut, and Dean watches the demon’s life pour out of his eyes.

Sam shows up and recognizes Meg immediately probably from that time a few years ago when she rode him for a while.

Dean kills one of the demons. Meg flees.

He can’t even think straight as they get Bobby to the hospital. They need to stay with him, but the nurse won’t let them and they have to get to this stupid Michael sword thing before the demons get there but everything’s upside down and—

Dean’s really starting to wish that Cas was still alive right now.

When they arrive at the storage unit where the sword is apparently located, they’re a little more than disappointed when they find angels there instead of demons.

Zachariah spills the _awesome_ news that Dean _is_ the Michael sword.

The archangel Michael’s vessel. Dean is the chosen vessel for an archangel.

Fucking great.

“You’re more of a…receptacle, if you will,” Zachariah says deliberately.

Dean wants to recoil at the wording, but he has to stand his ground in front of this douchebag. He can wallow later at the fact that he’s been nothing but a receptacle all his life. Even in hell. Even now. Surely Zachariah has no clue exactly what that word implies to Dean.

“It’s a great honor, Dean.”

“Yeah, life as an angel condom. I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Joking. Always with the joking. You’re going to do this, Dean.”

“Yeah, says who? Last I checked, Michael needs my consent to ride around in my skin.”

Zachariah’s face turns dark at that, and he points his finger at Sam’s legs. Sam falls to the floor and screams. “Going to be difficult to fight Lucifer with broken legs.”

“What the fuck?”

“You ready to give your consent now?”

Dean knows where this is going, but it only takes him a second to realize he’d much rather die than let an angel take over his body to fight their stupid fucking holy war. “No.”

“How about if I give you…stage 4 stomach cancer?”

Oh, Dean’s dying now. He’s definitely dying. Holy shit, he’s never felt this bad in his life. “Eat me,” he manages to say.

“What about if Sam were to, say, lose his lungs?”

Dean can hear Sam gasping and choking behind him, but he’s in so much pain that he’s about to black out and he can’t really focus on anything at all.

He’s not entirely sure that what he’s seeing is real when Castiel appears and kills Zachariah’s henchmen in a matter of seconds.

Wait. This definitely can’t be real. Castiel is dead. But then why does Zachariah look so terrified?

“How are you—”

“Alive? That’s a good question. How did these two end up on that airplane? Another good question. Beause the angels certainly didn’t do it. I think we both know the answer.” Dean’s never heard that kind of confidence out of Cas, so it must be a figment of his imagination.

“No, that’s not possible.”

“It scares you. It should. Now put these boys back together and go. I won’t ask twice.”

Dean has no clue what they’re talking about.

But Zachariah is scared. Dean knows it’s true because two seconds later he can breathe again and his body doesn’t feel like it’s ripping itself apart from the inside out. And Cas is still there. Which means Cas really is real. Dean resists the urge to hug him.

“Cas, you’re—”

“Yes, I’m alive. You two need to be more careful.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Dean responds. “Your frat brothers are bigger dicks than I thought.”

“That’s not what I mean. Lucifer is circling his vessel.” Cas steps forward then and presses his hands into Dean and Sam’s chests.

Dean feels like he just had a hand crawl through his ribcage and feel all around. “What the fuck was that?” he asks.

“Enochian sigils. I branded them onto your ribs so that angels can’t find you.”

Dean is still processing whatever the hell that means when Sam asks, “Cas, were you really dead?”

“Yes.”

“Then how are you back?” Dean asks.

In response, Cas disappears.

“Well, that answered a lot,” Dean complains.

“Hey, lighten up. He just saved our asses and gave us some time to figure this shit out. And don’t try to act like you’re not happy that he’s alive.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. We should get back to the hospital, check on Bobby.”

It’s as good of a distraction as any from Cas and Zachariah and all the shit that’s hitting the fan right now. Bobby might be paralyzed from the waist down, and he’s not exactly…handling it well.

Dean’s never seen him quite this grumpy in his life. He wishes there was something he could do, and the only thing he can come up with is to give a bullshit pep talk about how they’re going to kill the devil and stop the damn apocalypse themselves. He doesn’t think Bobby buys it at all.

But apparently Sam does. They’re walking to the car to turn in for the night when he says, “You really think we can do it?”

Dean feels a spark of jealousy at Sam’s naivety. Part of him doesn’t want to destroy it. “No. I was just saying all that crap for Bobby’s benefit. I mean, I’ll fight ‘til the last man, but let’s be honest. We don’t stand a snowball’s chance. You know that. Hell, you of all people know that.” Shit. That’s not what he meant to say. Goddamn it, why are they always doing this.

“Is there something you want to say to me?”

He thinks about backing out of this, saying, “nothing,” and letting it drop, but he’s…too hurt. He needs Sam’s support more than anything. He needs his assurances. “I tried, Sammy. I really tried. But I just can’t keep pretending that everything is all right. Because it’s not. And it’s never going to be. You chose a _demon_ over your own brother, and look what happened.”

“I would give anything, _anything_ to take it all back.”

“I know you would. And I know how sorry you are, I do. But man, you were the one I depended on the most. And you let me down in ways I can’t even—I’m just having a hard time forgiving and forgetting here, you know?”

“What can I do?”

“Honestly? Nothing. I just don’t—I don’t think we can ever be what we were, you know? I just don’t think I can trust you.”

 

* * *

 

Sam doesn’t sleep that night. He can’t get Bobby’s—the demon’s—words out of his head.

He can’t get Dean’s words out of his head.

He can’t think of any way at all to redeem himself from this.

If he could just—he’s always know that he’s a freak. Even back at Stanford, in high school, as a kid—he just _knew_ that something was off. The word doesn’t even bother him anymore. But now he feels broken. Like there is something permanently damaged in him and nobody will ever treat him normally because it’s never going to go away and he will always carry this burden.

He wonders if this is how Dean feels every day of his life. Maybe he hasn’t been as sympathetic to his brother as he could be.

They go back to the hospital first thing in the morning. It’s an almost silent ride over.

While they’re talking to Bobby, he turns to Sam and says, “I was awake. That was the demon talking. I ain’t cutting you out, boy. Not ever.”

Sam stands a little straighter after that.

When Cas shows up a few minutes later, Sam feels the need to take a few steps back. This new model of Castiel is a lot scarier and more intense than the previous one, and Sam is not entirely sure how to deal with him yet. Luckily for him, Cas doesn’t seem to notice anybody else in the room other than Dean. Dean stands his ground, but even from behind, Sam can tell he’s uncomfortable with the way the angel is getting right up in his face with his eyes hard and his voice rough.

“I killed two angels this week. Those were my brothers. I’ve hunted, I’ve rebelled, and I did all of it—for you. And you failed. You and your brother destroyed the world, and I lost everything. For nothing. So keep your opinions to yourself.”

Shit. Something serious must’ve happened between Cas and Dean while Sam was…

Castiel tells them he’s on a mission to find God, and Sam has to choke back a laugh. He takes the amulet Sam gave Dean for Christmas when they were kids, and then he vanishes before explaining himself further. Dean looks absolutely petrified when he turns around.

“So Cas 2.0, huh?” Sam asks smugly.

“Shut up.”

“Rebuilt by God himself. He’s a little…terrify—”

“ _Shut up.”_

Bobby’s phone rings then. It’s his buddy Rufus, and it sounds pretty damn urgent.

The next 24 hours are somewhat of a mess for them.

They’re holed up in a town with a bunch of terrified civilians, and Jo is a demon and Ellen is freaking out about it and nothing makes sense and they can’t tell right from left and Sam kills demons in a convenience store and the blood on his knife looks so fucking enticing but—

None of it is real. It takes them way too long to figure out that someone is playing mind games with the town, and nobody is actually a demon. They all just _think_ they are.

Which means that Sam killed innocent people. And still wanted to drink their blood.

Sam is still trying to sort everything out as he sits tied to a chair with holy water and salt dripping down his face.

One of the guys from the town, Roger he thinks his name is, comes into the room alone, and it only takes Sam a matter of minutes to figure out that he’s not who he says he is.

War. The guy is war incarnate. Straight out of the book of Revelation. Fuck.

Sam tells him he’s going to kill him, and Roger rolls his eyes. “God, your lust for power is absurd, you know that? Same as always. You’re _so_ bloodthirsty, and I mean that both literally and otherwise. You want to be strong again, but not just strong. You want to be stronger than _everybody._ It’s all you’ve ever wanted, deep down. To feel validated, like you’re in control and you can do anything you want without any consequences because nobody’s big or tough enough to get in your way. Right, Sammy? You feel bad _now?_ Wait ‘til you’re thigh deep in warm corpses. Because I’m just getting started.”

Sam doesn’t even have time to process what was just said before Roger sets him up as the bad guy, and Sam spends the next several minutes trying his damnedest to convince his friends that Roger needs to be killed.

But they can’t kill him even if they believed him. Sam knows that.

Everything turns even more chaotic after that, and for a second Sam thinks they are all going to die.

He and Dean manage to trap Roger. They know they can’t kill him, so they cut his finger off and take his ring. Sure, it’s a little Mount Doom-ish, but it works.

They’ve beaten one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. One down, three to go. No problem.

Except Sam’s never felt worse about himself than he does right now. He doesn’t even want to look Dean in the eye when they take a rest stop at a park and discuss what to do with the ring.

“I know you don’t trust me. I don’t trust me either,” Sam admits. "From the minute I saw that blood, only thought in my head was that I...and I tell myself it’s for the right reasons, my intentions are good, and it, it feels true, you know? But I think, underneath, I just miss the feeling. I know how messed up that sounds, which means I know how messed up I am. Thing is, the problem’s not the demon blood, not really. I mean, I, what I did, I can’t blame the blood or Ruby or anything. The problem’s me. How far I’ll go. There’s something in me that scares the hell out of me, Dean. It scares the hell out of me, and I can't tell how...how strong it is. If it's controlling me or something."

Dean looks down at his hands, and Sam can tell that he’s trying to think of a way to let him down easy. “I spend more time worrying about you than I do about doing the job right. I can’t afford that right now.”

Yeah. The greater good. That’s more important than Sam’s feelings. More important than Sam’s self-loathing. He has to do what’s best.

“Do you want to take the Impala?” Dean asks kindly.

God, Sam knows Dean tries his best. He tries his best to be a good big brother even when he’s pushing Sam away. But it’s what they both need right now. “No. I’ll see you later, Dean.”

A strangely numb feeling washes over Sam as he grabs his bag out of the Impala and starts hitchhiking.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, buddy, um, sit down for a second. I want to talk to you about something.”

“I don’t need to sit.”

“Yeah, but I want you to. C’mon, dude, just do it.”

Cas squints as he sits deliberately in the chair across from Dean.

“Listen, man. I know you’re not…used to this whole ‘human’ thing yet. I get it, I really do. But there’s a couple things you need to know, OK?”

“I don’t understand. How is this pertinent to our miss—”

“It’s not, Cas. But if you’re going to keep popping in and out of mine and Sam’s lives, we got to set some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?”

Sam laughs from where he’s reading on his bed, and Dean tells him to shut up. “All right, first of all: quit watching me while I sleep. That’s not something people do normally. It’s weird, and it creeps me the fuck out. You got that?”

Cas nods once. “I understand. But what if I need to speak with you?”

“Then you wake me up. Don’t just stand there staring until I notice. I’m a light sleeper, just say my name and I’ll wake up.”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Next: there’s this thing people have called _personal space.”_

“Personal space?”

“Yeah, personal space. It’s like—everybody’s got a sort of, uh, bubble around them. Not literally, but it’s like the empty space you leave between you and another person when you’re talking to each other or hanging out or whatever.”

Cas furrows his brow, and Dean thinks there’s no way he’s getting this, but then he says, “How much of this ‘space’ is appropriate?”

“Why don’t you demonstrate?” Sam asks loudly from across the room.

Dean glares at him, but really he’s got a point. It will be a lot easier to just _show_ Cas.

“All right, come on, stand up,” Dean says with a wave of his arm for Cas to come near him.

Cas stands a solid seven or eight feet away from Dean. “Is this an appropriate amount of space?”

Dean sighs and places his hands on his hips. “A little closer, buddy.”

Cas steps forward until he’s about four feet away.

“That’s a little better. Now, this—” Dean steps forward and grabs the lapels of Cas’ coat and yanks on him until they’re nearly chest-to-chest, “is _too close.”_

Cas looks down between them and then meets Dean’s eyes again. It’s then that Dean realizes what he’s done, and he loses his train of thought. Why is Cas standing this close to him again? He licks his lips and blinks a few times, and Cas’ gaze never wavers.

Sam clears his throat loudly, and Dean snaps out of it.

“Right, um,” he stutters as he pushes away from Cas just a little bit. “This is still too close. If I can feel your breath on my face, it’s too close.” He takes another step back. “This is an appropriate distance. I can still reach you if I need to, but I don’t feel like I should lean my head back in order to talk to you. Got it?”

“Yes, I think I ‘got it.’” Cas takes a big step forward so he’s chest-to-chest with Dean again. “Too close.” He takes a small step back. “Still too close.” Another one. “Appropriate.”

“Perfect.” Dean rubs the back of his neck and looks at the floor for a second. He never really thought much about how fucking blue Castiel’s eyes are. “Rule number three: don’t just pop in whenever you feel like it.”

“But—”

“No. There’s a thing called privacy, Cas, and sometimes people don’t like it when it’s interrupted. So when you fly in here, even for an emergency, you land _outside the door_ and _knock_ like a regular human, OK?”

“But I—fine. Fine. Don’t watch you while you sleep, provide ‘personal space’ and knock before entering. I ‘got it.’”

Dean pats Cas’ shoulder a couple times. “Good job, buddy.”

"Don't worry about boundaries with me, dude," Sam cuts in. "I'm not nearly as insecure as my brother."

_"Shut up."_

 

* * *

 

Dean misses his brother almost the second he walks away. The car seems too quiet without him. Checking into a motel seems awkward, like he’s missing something. Going to a bar that night and hooking up with an army veteran—Ashley, she tells him as she tears his belt off—in the women’s bathroom doesn’t even make the feeling go away. He buys Ashley drinks all night just so he has an excuse to get raging drunk himself. When he wakes up alone and naked in his bed the next morning with a name and number on a note sitting on his nightstand, he doesn’t remember any of the events leading up to it. The name on the paper is George.

Yeah, he regrets letting Sam leave.

He goes on a vampire case by himself, and it’s really cut-and-dry and unsatisfyingly easy. As he’s washing blood out of his clothes in the motel bathroom sink afterward, Cas appears right there in the mirror behind him.

Dean jumps then turns and feels his heart lodge in his throat when he meets Cas’ gaze from where he’s standing a few inches away from him. “Cas. We’ve talked about this. Personal space.”

“Sorry,” Cas says as he takes a step back, and Dean lets out a breath.

“How’d you find me?”

“Bobby told me where you were. Where is Sam?”

“Me and Sam are taking separate vacations for a while. So, did you find God yet? More importantly, can I have my damn necklace back please?”

“No, I need your help."

“What, a God hunt? Not interested.”

“No, it’s someone else.”

Cas explains that he needs help finding the archangel, Raphael, because he’s the one who killed him.

“So what, I’m Thelma and you’re Louise and we’re just going to hold hands and sail off this cliff together?” God, did he just flirt with Cas? What the fuck is wrong with him.

Cas, of course, just tilts his head and squints his eyes, and Dean feels like a fucking idiot.

He’s never going to learn how to communicate properly with this angel.

Dean asks why he can’t do this himself, and Cas admits that no angel is going to hurt Michael’s vessel. He basically needs Dean to be a human shield. Great.

“I need your help,” Cas says slowly. He steps into Dean’s personal space, and Dean doesn’t stop him. “Because you’re the only one who will help me. Please.”

Shit, why does he have to _do_ that? That—that _thing_ that makes Dean agree _._

The drive to Maine is quiet, but at least Dean’s got somebody beside him again. Not that Cas is in any way a substitute for Sam, but…he’s a friend, and that counts for something.

About an hour into the drive, Cas asks about the music, and that’s how Dean gets into a history lesson about classic rock. It turns out Castiel is pretty damn good at asking the right questions, and by the end of their trip Dean’s told him about every popular genre and quality band that’s defined the past 40 or so years of music. He feels really excited when they get out of the car.

Enough so that he doesn’t even think anything of it when he starts adjusting Cas’ tie. Lucky for him, Castiel has no concept of proper human behavior in social settings, and he doesn’t even react to the far-too-intimate gesture.

That gets Dean thinking, which is never a good thing. What else could he get away with when it comes to Cas? At what point would Cas draw a line or realize that Dean’s behavior is a little more intense than it’s supposed to be? Dean decides not to continue that line of thinking as he explains to Cas that they’re going to have to lie about who they are in order to get information.

Cas holds his FBI badge upside down.

Cas tells the cop the truth.

Cas starts talking about the apocalypse right there in the police station.

Cas is literally the worst partner Dean could’ve ever asked for.

It’s…adorable.

Dean’s disgusted with himself.

They find Raphael’s vessel in a mental hospital, and Cas tells Dean that if he gives Michael his consent, Dean’s future will be much worse than this poor bastard’s. Dean just rolls his eyes in response.

Castiel disappears sometime later, and Dean is left alone in an abandoned house to do some research on where to find this archangel. When Cas shows back up several hours later, he claims he was in Jerusalem to get some holy oil or something.

“Any chance we’re going to survive this?” Dean asks.

“You will.”

Great, Dean has to lose his friend for the second time in less than a month. Fucking great. “So when’s this going down?”

“Sunrise.”

“This is your last night on earth then.”

Cas just sits and stares out the window.

“Any plans?” Dean fishes.

“I just thought I’d sit here quietly.”

“Dude, c’mon, anything? Booze, women?”

Cas looks down at his lap awkwardly, and that’s an all-too-human reaction.

“Um, men?”

Still no answer.

“You _have_ been with someone before, right? An angel at least?”

Cas rubs the back of his neck nervously.

Dean finds this way too amusing, but he holds back his laughter and leans down right behind Cas. “You mean to tell me you haven’t been up there doing a little cloud seeding?”

“I never had occasion, OK?”

Well, that’s just a goddamn tragedy. “All right. Let me tell you something, there are two things I know for certain. One, Bert and Ernie are gay. Two, you are not going to die a virgin. Not on my watch. Even if I—” Dean cuts himself off before he says something he’ll really regret. “Let’s go.” He doesn’t even look back to see if Castiel follows him.

When they get to the brothel, Dean’s never seen the guy look so jittery and ridiculous, and suddenly he feels dumb for thinking Cas was intimidating last week. Jesus, he’s like the silliest supernatural being Dean’s ever met in his life. What a joke.

“Relax,” Dean says before they’ve even talked to anyone.

“This is a den of iniquity. I should not be here,” Cas responds very seriously.

“Dude, you full-on rebelled against heaven. Iniquity is one of the perks.” A lovely lady in a white teddy approaches them then, and Dean says, “Show time.”

“Hi. What’s your name?” she asks Cas.

Cas freezes and looks like he might pass out.

“Cas. His name is Cas,” Dean answers for him. “What’s your name?”

“Chastity.”

“Chastity? Wow.”

Cas downs half his beer in two seconds.

“Well, he likes you and you like him, so…” Dean waves his hand and Chastity grabs at Cas’ arm.

Cas just stares at Dean with fear in his eyes, and Dean winks at him in reassurance. Before Chastity can pull him away, Dean stands up next to him and whispers instructions and hands him a stack of cash. As Cas turns away from him, on impulse he thinks, _Good luck, buddy,_ and Cas turns back and quirks a nervous smile. Did Dean just send a prayer to his friend about getting laid?

He’s at the bar about to drink his third beer with a pretty lady when he hears a scream from the private rooms.

Shit.

He rushes back and puts his hands up defensively when Chastity storms past him and tells him and Cas to fuck themselves.

Well then.

“The hell did you do?” Dean asks as he walks up to Cas.

“I don’t know. I just looked her in the eyes and told her it wasn’t her fault her father took off. He just hated his job at the post office.”

“Oh no, man. This whole industry runs on absent fathers. It’s natural order.” Security shows up at the end of the hallway. “We should go,” Dean says as he grabs Cas’ arm and starts pulling him toward the exit.

He bursts out laughing when they get outside, and he doesn’t stop for several minutes.

“What’s so funny?” Cas asks innocently.

Dean throws an arm over his shoulder. “Ah, nothing. It’s been a long time since I laughed that hard. It’s been more than a long time. Years.”

He’s not missing Sammy so much right now.

It’s not until later that Dean realizes…if Cas knew about Chastity’s absent father pushing her into her line of work, then what must he know about Dean’s similar past?

Why did he ever think a brothel was a good idea in the first place? For some reason he felt far removed from it when he suggested the idea to Cas. All he was thinking about was helping his friend have a good time.

They go back to the mental hospital in the morning, and Cas starts pouring holy oil around Raphael’s vessel as he explains how this might work.

It doesn’t work.

They drive back to the abandoned house that night, and Dean complains that this was a day he’ll never get back. At least Castiel is still alive, though.

When they open the front door, they’re met with a bright light emanating from none other than Raphael.

Raphael is scary and weird and says all this shit about God being dead and him being much more creative than giving Dean stomach cancer like Zachariah did and blah blah blah, Dean just stands there and drinks his beer.

He tries to claim that Lucifer, not God, brought Castiel back because he needs as many rebellious angels as he can get.

That doesn’t seem to faze Cas all that much, and he turns to leave without saying anything.

“Castiel. Do not leave me here. You will regret it,” Raphael warns.

Cas turns back to him and says, “Maybe one day. But today, you’re my little bitch.”

Dean holds back a prideful smile. “What he said.”

Cas is quiet as they drive.

“You OK?” Dean asks after a few miles.

He just looks straight ahead and doesn’t answer.

“You know, I know something about missing fathers.”

“What do you mean?”

Oh. So maybe Cas hasn’t seen Dean’s past. “I mean, there have been moments where—I thought my dad had abandoned me, and moments where he actually did abandon me. Times when all logic said he was dead. But I knew, in my heart, that he was alive.” _And that he loved me._ “Who cares what some ninja turtle says, Cas. What do _you_ believe?”

“I believe that he’s out there,” Cas answers confidently.

“Good. Then go find him.” It feels good to talk to Cas like this. Feels like a pep talk he’s given Sam a hundred times.

“What about you?” Cas asks. Dean wasn’t expecting that.

“Me? I don’t know. Honestly, I’m good. I can’t believe I’m saying that, but I am. I’m really good.”

“Even without your brother?”

“Especially without my brother.” He doesn’t realize it’s true until he says it. “I spend so much time worrying about Sam. I mean, I’ve had more fun with you in the past 24 hours than I’ve had with Sam in years. And you’re not that much fun. It’s funny, you know, I’ve been so chained to my family. Now that I’m alone…hell, I’m happy."

Cas is gone when Dean looks over at the passenger seat.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endverse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made this its own chapter because a) it's heavy Dean/Cas and I realize there might be people reading this fic for other things besides the Dean/Cas and b) there might be people who hate endverse and would like to skip it easily. 
> 
> Warning for Cas doing drugs that you should NEVER try. Also, top!Dean.

Black tar is most effectively administered intravenously, but unfortunately it damages the veins so severely that any attempts at hitting the same spot more than once are futile.

The next most effective method is to put the narcotic in a syringe and deliver it deep into the rectum. Although a strange sensation, not entirely unpleasant, this method is Cas’ favorite.

Unfortunately, the second method is best administered by a partner, and Cas has refused on many occasions to do it himself. Not that he’s incapable of doing it, it’s just that…he likes for it to be a “thing” just between himself and Dean.

But Dean is not here right now. So Cas has to make do with grinding the narcotic into powder so he can snort it. The third best option.

It’s pretty much the only drug that does the trick these days. It makes Cas feel like he can fly again, like he can’t feel pain, like he’s back in heaven soaking up perfect sunshine in a perfect field of perfect grass. It’s wonderful.

He barely remembers what it’s like to be sober. He started drinking back in 2012 when his grace began fading, switched to cocaine the day he realized he was never going to see Dean smile again, and now he’s been doing heroin pretty much exclusively since Dean burst into his cabin a few months ago and kissed him until he couldn’t breathe.

They didn’t say anything while they fucked that night. It was fast and dirty and Dean held Cas up against the wall like he weighed nothing (which…was not far from the truth) and thrust into him almost painfully hard until they both had tears in their eyes.

After they both came, Dean still held Cas up for a few minutes while they panted and breathed each other in. Dean didn’t make eye contact with Cas as he cleaned him up, kissed him once more and turned quickly to leave his cabin.

It’s not that Cas expected much more than that, but he still distinctly remembers crying himself dry that night.

That’s not how it was supposed to happen.

But he loves Dean—he’s always loved Dean—and he’ll provide whatever he wants from him. Neither of them are the same men they were when they met, but it doesn’t matter. He can still see a small glimmer of light that used to be the beacon of Dean’s soul, and he'll cling to that until his dying breath.

Dean hates that Cas shoots up and leads orgies and is generally useless in a fight. Even so, the suppository injection has become an almost sexual act for them. Dean has participated in one or two of the orgies. He still takes Cas on missions. Nothing makes sense anymore.

It’s the same thing every day, and when someone tells Cas that it’s the year 2014, it doesn’t even carry any meaning to it. All he does is sit around Camp Chitaqua waiting for Dean’s orders, waiting for Dean to come by his cabin and fuck him. It’s a fucked up world, but it’s the only world Cas knows.

He’s putting away his stash when ladies start pouring into his cabin. Oh, so today must be an orgy day. Exclusively with women.

Each of them kisses him on the mouth before taking their seats on the floor, and at least half of them taste like weed or liquor. It’s going to be a fun day.

He sits cross-legged on the floor and starts giving his bullshit speech about the activities they’re going to participate in today and how it will bring them all together as one when he sees Dean out of his peripheral vision.

He turns and winks at him once before telling the ladies that he needs to be excused for a minute. Usually Dean doesn’t come by this early, so something must be up.

He looks especially flustered today, too, so Cas grabs him by the back of the neck and kisses him softly to reassure him. Sometimes that’s all Dean needs, and it’s one of Cas’ favorite things to provide.

But Dean doesn’t kiss back. And when Cas pulls away, Dean’s eyes are huge and his mouth is hanging open and his cheeks are reddening.

Shit.

“You…are not you,” Cas says slowly. “Not _now_ you anyway.”

“Uh, um, no. No I’m not.”

Shit fuck. “What year are you from?” He could probably guess based on the fact that that was clearly the first kiss they’ve shared, but he doesn’t want to make any assumptions.

“2009.”

“Oh…yeah, that makes sense.”

“Um. What the _fuck_ , dude?”

Cas sighs and rubs his temples. “I apologize, Dean. You and I are…we have a different relationship than the one you are accustomed to.”

“You think?” Dean asks sarcastically.

Cas holds back a smile. He misses this Dean so much. “Who sent you here? Was it Zachariah?”

“Yeah. So why don’t you just strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?”

That pulls a laugh out of Cas only because if he doesn’t laugh he’d probably get angry. “I wish I could just, uh, ‘strap on my wings.’ But I’m sorry, no dice.”

“What are you, stoned?”

“Generally, yeah.”

“What happened to you?”

He decides to answer as honestly as possible. “Life.”

“And you and me—we’re…?”

“Yes, that’s an excellent description of what we are.”

“When?”

That’s not the question he was expecting at all. “Do you mean when did we…?”

“Yeah.”

“Dean, I don’t think we should discuss this. I already fucked up enough letting you know the nature of our relationship. It might, um, mess up the timeline.”

Dean plants his hands on his hips and looks hard at Cas. “Fine. Tell me one thing at least. If I go back to 2009 and kiss you like you just kissed me, how would 2009 you respond?”

Another unexpected question. Jesus, _2009?_ That’s way too early for Dean to be thinking like this. “I…I would advise against it.”

“Oh…OK.” Dean bows his head and makes that face he does when he’s disappointed but doesn’t want anyone to know. It’s a face Cas has come to know fondly over the years.

“If I remember correctly, 2009 me does not know that you are interested in anything other than women.”

He perks up a little at that. “You never—you know, you didn’t look into my soul or whatever?”

“That’s not really how it works, Dean. But no, I only ever saw glimpses of your dreams and occasionally your nightmares. Nothing else.”

Dean nods in thought, and then there’s the sound of cars pulling up, and they both head out of the cabin.

Cas stands a respectable distance away and keeps his eyes trained on _his_ Dean as he shoots one of his soldiers in cold blood. It’s not a big deal, really. Except for the fact that the other Dean is making a scene out of it.

“I’m not going to lie to you. Me and him? We got a pretty messed up situation,” Dean announces as he points at his former self.

The other Dean turns to look at Cas for reassurance, but Cas refuses to meet his eyes.

The two of them go to Dean’s cabin, and Cas knows he’s not welcome to join.

So he shoots up some. Intravenously like you’re supposed to.

Dean, his Dean, shows up at his cabin about an hour later.

“You all right?” he asks, just like he’s asked consistently for the past five years.

“Better than ever. Where’s your clone?”

“Taking a time-out in my cabin.” Dean sits on the edge of the bed and reaches a hand out for Cas to come to him. “We found the Colt, Cas.”

Cas stands between Dean’s legs and strokes his hair as Dean stares up at him. “Does that mean we can celebrate before our meeting?”

“That depends.” Dean rubs his hands along Cas’ hips, which makes his body rock forward and back in a steady rhythm. “What’d you and fake Dean talk about?”

“Are you implying that I cheated on you with you?”

“I mean, we cheat on each other with everybody else, so it’s a logical assumption.”

“Then how would it affect whether or not we fuck right now?”

Dean tugs a little on Cas’ belt loops. “C’mon, Cas, just tell me.”

“I kissed him on accident. Thought it was you. He freaked out. That was it."

“He freaked out?”

“Yes.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“It was brief, and he didn’t kiss back.” Cas grabs one of Dean’s ears and pulls on it. “But yes, you jealous asshole, I enjoyed it. It was _you._ I enjoy every iteration of you.”

Dean yanks Cas’ pants down at that, and they come down easily. Dean is gentler today than usual, and it is strangely reminiscent of his old self. He fucks Cas from behind while they’re both lying on their sides, and Cas is more focused on the lips exploring his neck and shoulder than he is on the dick in his ass.

It’s really nice.

Too nice.

It’s a goodbye.

Unlike usual, Dean allows Cas to roll over and bury his face in his bare chest after they’ve both come. They lie there in silence for a while, Dean’s arms moving in lazy circles over Cas’ back. Maybe the world is ending and maybe Cas misses the old Dean, but right now everything is good and Dean feels safe, feels like home, feels like love.

“C’mon, Cas, we have a meeting to go to,” Dean says groggily after several long minutes.

Cas arches his body into Dean’s and whines a little. He doesn’t even care that he’s completely desperate. He got over trying to hide how he feels about Dean a long time ago. “But we’re having such a nice time.”

“Yeah, well, shit to do. I’ll make it up to you later,” Dean promises as he kisses Cas’ forehead and starts to move off the bed.

Cas knows it’s a lie and that there is no “later,” but he doesn’t say anything about it. They get cleaned up in silence and make out one more time before they leave the cabin.

Nobody says anything when they walk into Dean’s cabin together, even though past Dean clears his throat rather dramatically. Everybody knows that Dean and Cas are a “thing,” even if nobody (including them) knows what that thing is. Dean starts explaining their mission, but it’s very apparent from the start that one of the members of their team is unhappy with him. It’s Risa, one of the ladies who comes to Cas’ orgy sessions fairly regularly.

“Are you OK?” Dean asks her blankly.

“Oh, uh, we were in Jane’s cabin last night. And apparently we and Risa have a connection,” past Dean answers, and Cas chokes back a laugh. Yeah, he really misses that Dean.

“You want to shut up?”

Past Dean throws his hands up in defense, and Cas has a brief moment of nostalgia thinking of all the mannerisms Dean has lost over the years. When he comes back to the conversation, he realizes Dean is talking about torturing demons, and Risa is asking questions.

“Our fearless leader, I’m afraid, is all too well schooled in the art of getting to the truth,” Cas answers bitterly.

“Torture? Oh, so we’re torturing again? Yeah, that’s good. Classy,” past Dean says facetiously.

Cas really laughs this time, and when Dean gives him a hard look he responds, “What? I like past you,” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He knows it hurts Dean to hear it, but he doesn’t care. They’re all about to die anyway.

Dean continues talking like nothing happened. His plan is the dumbest thing Cas has heard in the past five years. Walk right up to the devil in the middle of a hot zone full of Croats? Great.

“If you don’t like reckless, I can use insouciant maybe,” Cas says in response.

“Are you coming?” Dean asks in that same bland tone he always uses when he already knows the answer to the question.

Cas looks back at past Dean and wishes momentarily that he was pledging his allegiance to _him_ right now. “Of course.” They’re all going to die, and Cas knows it. “But why is he—I mean, he’s you five years ago. If something happens to him, you’re gone, right?”

“He’s coming,” Dean answers forcefully.

Cas resigns himself to the task, and he and Risa head out to get everybody ready by midnight. He could really use another hit right about now.

Maybe past Dean will knock some sense into his Dean. What he would give for _that._

Realizing that this is probably his last night on earth, Cas decides to try to sober up a little before they head out. He wants, at the very least, to recognize when he’s dying as it happens.

When they’re walking to their cars a few hours later, he prays to an absent god that at least one of the Deans rides with him. Yes, he’s desperate. But he gave up both his pride and dignity a long time ago, so he really doesn’t care.

Past Dean climbs into his passenger seat without even asking, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s a bittersweet gratefulness Cas feels to think that he won’t have to have a big goodbye talk with his Dean.

“Listen, Cas, I’m really happy for you for getting the stick out of your ass, but what’s going on with you?” Dean asks after a few minutes of silence.

“Dean, I’m not an angel anymore. I’m practically useless.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I went mortal. Last year I broke my foot—was laid up for two months.”

“So you’re human?”

Cas nods.

“Welcome to the club, buddy.”

“Thanks. Although I used to belong to a much better club.”

Dean turns to look at Cas earnestly. “Why’d you do it then?”

“Do what?”

“I don’t know…why didn’t you—you know, go with the angels?”

Again with the unexpected questions. God, he forgot how sincere this Dean is. “You really need me to answer that, Dean?”

A smile quirks at Dean’s lips, and he looks down at his hands shyly. “Why me, man?”

“Oh, you know, I always had a rebellious streak in me. It just took a pretty face yelling at me for me to act on it.” He decides not to mention that it was actually Dean’s soul, not his face, that changed everything.

Dean laughs and shakes his head.

“What?"

“Nothing. It’s just so weird hearing you talk like this. So far on my timeline you’re totally oblivious to…well, everything.”

Cas lets that confession sit for a minute before he responds. “I’m not as oblivious as you think.”

“Wait, really?”

“We shouldn’t be discussing this. It’s not fair for you to have insight about my past self.”

“Well, gee, Cas, thanks for not leading me on or anything.”

He can’t help but smile at that. “I’m sorry. I’m being mean. Why are you even asking me all this anyway? Two thousand and nine you didn’t really like me all that much if I remember correctly.”

“You kidding me? Wow, you’re _still_ oblivious.”

 _Not as oblivious as you,_ Cas thinks. “Promise me you won’t tell me about this conversation.”

“Promise. Kiss on it?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“C’mon, I want to know what it’s like.”

“It would be completely different than kissing past me. I already ruined your first kiss with me, I’m not doing it again.”

“This is weird, you talking like us getting together is a sure thing in my timeline.”

“Well, if it’s anything like this one…”

The conversation drops after that, and Dean falls asleep for the rest of the ride. Time travel can be rather draining for humans.

He wakes up as they’re slowing down to get safely into the hot zone. Cas figures they’ll be parking at least a mile from where they actually need to go, so he’s starting to wish he had napped some, too.

“You worried about dying, Cas?” Dean asks somberly almost the moment he wakes up.

“Nope.”

“How do you…does it not bother you that he— _I’m_ just letting you die? I mean, you know he’s using you as bait, right?”

Cas rubs his eyes and sighs. “Dean, I appreciate how much you care about this. I really do. But you have to understand—you are not _you_ anymore. You cannot expect that other man to make the same decisions that you would make.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“A word of advice if your timeline stays the same, or really even if it doesn’t: I pick you. Every time. Even when you’re not you anymore.”

Dean swallows and clenches his jaw. “I kind of—I guess I sort of—could’ve guessed that.”

“Well, now you know. Don’t abuse the privilege.” Cas laughs to himself as he thinks about all the times over the years Dean _has_ abused the privilege. Maybe this Dean will make better decisions.

The sun is just coming up when they park and get out of their vehicles, and Cas’ Dean walks over to them and tells his past self to give them some privacy. Past Dean drops back awkwardly and walks by himself since he doesn’t know anybody.

“Have a nice drive with him?” Dean asks quietly.

“Really? That’s what you’re concerned about right now?”

“Look, I’m just trying to…I don’t know. Whatever.”

“Hey, Dean.” Cas waits until Dean looks at him before continuing. “I believe in you. I know you’re doing your best.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

The next time they talk, it’s after Dean has told them all what they’re going to do, and after he punches himself in the face. Dean comes back and says to Cas, “Shoot fast, be smart, remember what I told you.”

“Can’t make any promises. You sure about this?”

“Yeah. Worry about yourself, all right?”

“You know I won’t do that.”

“Yeah, well. OK.”

It’s the last conversation they have before Cas dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole [this headcanon](http://deancasheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/96220313051/what-if-when-2009-dean-showed-up-at-cas-cabin) from myself for this chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of season 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is less about Dean's bisexuality and more about me correcting the eschatology in season 5. Linked text will take you to referenced verses from Revelation.

_You will always end up here.  
_

There have been a few times in Dean’s life when he felt—when he considered taking his own life. Ending it all. Giving up all of his responsibilities and everything.

Now is surprisingly not one of those times. He has just looked into his brother’s face and seen the devil, and he has never felt so determined to change the course of history in his life.

_You will always end up here._

He will not let this happen.

He will not leave his brother. He will not watch him say yes to Lucifer and burn the world.

He will not let himself turn into that broken shadow of a man he met.

He won’t let Cas…he doesn’t know what to do about Cas.

_You will always end up here._

He can’t focus on anything Zachariah is saying as he scolds him in his hotel room. He just saw the devil—his _brother—_ killing some nightmarish version of himself, and Zachariah expects him to have a conversation right now.

He barely feels it at all when Cas flies him out of there.

Cas. Who looks happy to see him. Who looks like he just _knows_ what Dean went through.

He’s never been more glad to see his angel. He wants to tell him everything, wants to grab his face and kiss the hell out of him and tell him he’s an idiot for following him and that he should go back to heaven right now and get the hell out of dodge before shit really hits the fan. But that’s not what he’s supposed to do.

“That was pretty nice timing, Cas.”

“We had an appointment.”

Dean needs Cas to know how serious he is, so he grabs his shoulder and leans forward to say, “Don’t ever change.”

“I won’t ask what you saw, but it seems like it was not pleasant.”

“You can say that again.” Dean pulls out his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

Sam answers on the third ring, and Dean can tell he woke him up. But he doesn’t care. Sam sounds excited to hear from him, and he agrees all too readily to meet up with him the next day.

How Dean ever thought it was a good idea to be away from Sam…how he ever thought he was better off without him—yeah, Dean doesn’t know how he ever felt that way.

Sam’s not his burden. He’s his support.

 

* * *

 

“Dude, when you were under the siren’s spell, were you attracted to him?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, like, he had us _both_ under his control, and I know all I wanted to do was just jump his bones right there—after killing you, of course.”

Sam rubs his fingers into his eyes and sits up in the passenger seat. They’ve been in the car too long for this conversation. Hell, they were just on a case where Sam killed Paris Hilton. They’ve only been hunting together again for a week. Dean hasn’t even told him what changed his mind in the first place, but Sam knows _something_ happened. He can tell in the way Dean looks at him sometimes. On the other hand, Sam hasn’t told Dean that the fucking _devil_ has been visiting him in his sleep as...that he’s been seeing Jess. Why the fuck is he bringing _this_ up right now?

“I don’t know, man, I was just seeing red for most of that,” Sam admits.

“Really? Huh.”

“What?”

“It’s just—I mean, all I was really thinking about was being with Nick forever. I barely even remember any of the shit you said to me anymore. So I was just wondering, you know…”

“Dean, are you asking me if I’m into dudes?”

“No! I’m—wait a second, _are_ you?”

Sam just laughs and shakes his head. “You’re a moron. Nick was a _siren._ Hate to break it to you, dude, but everything he did to us was done without our consent.”

Dean’s silent for a minute or so as he drives. “But I was the one who initiated the fucking.”

“Yeah, _knowing_ that he might be a siren and purposely giving up your consent.”

Dean looks like he’s thinking really hard. “Whatever. Not like it’s the worst thing that’s happened to me,” he mumbles.

That’s nothing if not exasperating to hear. Sam would like to ask Dean to spill, to tell him every sordid detail of his life until all the burdens have been removed. But that’s not how Dean operates, so instead Sam just says, “I’m sorry, Dean,” and that’s the end of the conversation.

 

They meet the antichrist in Nebraska. Well, _an_ antichrist according to Castiel. Apparently this is just a thing that happens sometimes, which is just great for everybody on earth. Cas switches into badass mode to try to convince Sam and Dean that the boy, the antichrist, has to die, but Sam doesn’t care how fucking scary Cas is when he’s pissed. He’s not killing a _child._ Especially when the kid hasn’t shown any signs of turning into a monster anytime soon. So he fights with Cas while Dean stands behind him not saying a fucking word and sometimes he wishes his brother would just _be on his side_ for once and help him argue in circumstances like these. But Dean rarely does that. Especially not with the topic of people becoming monsters. And especially not since Cas came back from the dead with terrifying power that ignites every room he walks into.

They don’t kill the kid.

 

“Dude, what are you watching?”

“What? Nothing.”

“No, seriously.”

Dean rolls his eyes and turns down the volume. “It’s a soap opera. It’s called _Dr. Sexy, M.D.”_

 _“Dr. Sexy, M.D.?_ Is this Dr. Sexy a guy or a girl?”

“What do you care?” Dean keeps his eyes glued on the television.

“Because I need to know how much I should make fun of you.”

“He’s a guy, all right? Asshole.”

Sam laughs and sits on the bed next to Dean to see if this Dr. Sexy really is sexy. An hour and a half later, he’s on the edge of his seat trying to learn all of the characters’ names and plot lines, asking Dean questions and getting way too emotionally invested in a dumb soap opera. The world’s ending and it’s his and Dean’s fault and yet here they sit buying into crap television.

It’s nice.

That is, it’s nice until 24 hours later when they show up to a warehouse that the police were apparently called to, and when they step inside they’re _in Dr. Sexy, M.D.  
_

Dean recognizes the place almost immediately, and Sam has to keep from laughing as his brother tells him every intimate detail about the show. Sure, he recognizes some characters himself, but Dean is _really_ into this.

“Oh boy. It’s him, it’s Dr. Sexy,” Dean says shyly as the title character strides toward them.

“Dude, I know he’s hot but get it together,” Sam grits out before the man stops right in front of Dean.

“Doctor,” he greets seriously.

“Doctor,” Dean responds, and Sam actually cannot believe how big of a fucking mess his brother is right now.

He’s been to hell and tortured souls and killed monsters all his life, but apparently he can’t keep it together in front of an attractive fictional character. Typical.

Dr. Sexy asks Dean some nonsense questions about a recent patient, and then he _flirts_ with him like he’s actually interested in him, and Sam thinks Dean might pass out right there on the spot.

But then out of nowhere Dean shoves the guy against a wall and claims he’s not the real Dr. Sexy because Dr. Sexy always wears cowboy boots. _God,_ Dean.

Sam doesn’t even have time to make fun of Dean before Dr. Sexy morphs into the trickster right before their eyes.

There’s an odd feeling in the pit of Sam’s stomach, and he’s transported back in time to the unnamed part of his life he’s tried very hard to forget. Sure, he might be a freak in the present day, but at least he’s not a cold-blooded murderer like he once was. He doesn’t like to be reminded.

The trickster wants them to play his stupid little game, and they really have no choice but to listen to him. This world might not be real, but the bullets in Dean’s back are, and so they have to do whatever they can to survive this weird TV land.

Cas appears and tries to tell them what’s going on while they’re on an extremely painful game show.

Dean gets to kick around playing basketball while Sam does an ad about genital herpes.

They get stuck for way too long on a sitcom where apparently Sam is the nagging brother who gets in the way of Dean’s diverse sexual conquests by focusing on important things like the world ending. OK, so maybe that one hits a little too close to home.

It’s not until they’re playing douchey detectives on a crime drama that they get a couple of rushed minutes to whisper about the fact that the trickster seems a little too passionate about the angel war. Too passionate to be an innocent bystander and not intimately involved with the matter.

But then Sam turns into the Impala and honestly it’s not even the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to him so whatever. Dean only makes like three jokes about being inside him, and that’s better than anything he could have asked for really.

Dean, as expected, holds his own against the trickster and manages to trap him with holy fire. Just as they surmised, the guy’s not a trickster at all but an angel.

A goddamn _archangel._

“How’d you know?” he asks while he’s still trapped.

“Nobody gets that angry about something unless they’re talking about their own family,” Dean responds honestly.

Gabriel explains his frustrations with the whole end-of-the-world ordeal, but Sam really can’t find it in him to have any sympathy for this guy. Yeah, he understands the desire for everything to just be over. But that doesn’t justify any of this dickbag’s actions over the past few years. God, is this really the guy who told Mary about the coming of Christ? _Seriously?_

Dean asks Gabriel to return Castiel, and Sam hasn’t heard that kind of scared conviction in his voice in a long time. Shit. Dean doesn’t need to start caring this much about his own personal angel. They’ve already lost him once; he’s not sure what would happen if Dean were to lose him again.

 

“You know those guys dressed as us? Damien and Barnes? They met online, dude. They’re, like, dating or whatever.”

“That’s cool I guess.”

“No, dude, think about it. They’re dating. And they were dressed as us.”

“Oh. Gross, Dean.”

“I mean, do you think—”

“I think I don’t want to hear the rest of that question, honestly.”

There’s a moment of silence, then Dean breaks it with, “You think people read the books and believe we’re actually together or something?”

“They don’t know we’re real, Dean. So anyway, I got a lead on the Colt.”

“What? You just let me sit here and talk about the incestuous subtext of our lives while you’ve got a lead on the Colt? Real classy, Sammy.”

Sam laughs as Dean punches him in the arm. He was just trying to let Dean debrief about the _Supernatural_ convention before he changed the subject. That convention fucked with both of them; it begged for some time to readjust back into real life.

“Yeah, so Becky said Bela apparently gave the Colt to some demon named Crowley.”

“Crowley? How’d she figure that out?”

“I don’t know, man, she’s a huge fan of the books. She could probably tell us all kinds of useful information that Chuck’s forgotten he wrote.”

“All right, so what’d she say?”

 

* * *

 

Right after hell, a few months maybe, Sam disappeared after he and Dean got in a huge argument about Ruby or Sam’s powers or something stupid, and Dean found himself stopping at the new Roadhouse alone. They had just recently reopened, and Dean felt bad that he hadn’t visited yet.

It was late, the bar was closing, and Ellen cut him off after three beers. Jo wasn’t there, and Dean thought she was probably out hunting.

Ellen closed up and sat next to Dean at the bar, and before she could ask any probing questions he apologized about Ash. He doesn’t remember if he or Sam or Bobby ever said anything about it since all of that…since everything happened with Sam so soon after.

“Ain’t got nothing to apologize for, boy. We rebuilt the place just like Ash would’ve wanted, and I’m sure he’s causing all kinds of noise up in heaven,” Ellen assured.

“You really believe in that crap?”

“You got an angel up your sleeve and you’re asking me that? Jesus, Dean, you really do have a hard time believing in good things."

Dean just shrugged, realizing he couldn’t really argue with that. They sat in comfortable silence for a while until finally Ellen asked why he was there and where the hell his brother was.

“I’m losing him, Ellen. I’m—he’s scaring me, and I don’t know what to do about it. I just end up…pushing him away.”

“You want what’s best for him, right? And whenever you try to tell him or help him, he thinks you’re controlling his life, judging him—and then he explodes and runs off.”

“I take it things are tough with Jo.”

“Things are always tough with Joanna Beth. You’re not responsible for him, Dean. You got to…let him do what he’s going to do.”

Dean gripped the counter and turned to glare at Ellen. “What he’s doing could kill him. And a lot of other people.”

Ellen leaned forward and rubbed a soothing hand into Dean’s shoulder. “Doing the best you can, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then whatever happens isn’t your fault, Dean.”

Knowing what he needed, Ellen wrapped a strong arm around Dean’s shoulders and pulled him against her chest so he could cry in peace.

“Am I broken, Ellen?” he mumbled after several long minutes.

Her hand stopped on his back and squeezed. “Not even if you had spent a hundred more years in hell and come back with black eyes, boy.”

Dean laughed against her chest. Yeah, right, like she or Sam or Bobby or somebody else wouldn’t kill him the second they saw he was a demon.

He sat up and stared at the counter. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“None of us are faultless, Dean.”

“No, you don’t—you don’t know what…what I _am.”_

“What? A poor bastard cursed to be a Winchester? Best hunter in the world? Queer?”

His eyes snapped to Ellen’s. “Jo told you?”

“No, son, I’ve just got eyes. Trust me, there ain’t nothing wrong with you.”

A few tears dropped to the bar. Christ, he was pathetic. He needed the affirmation more than anything. “You really think…Sammy and I will be OK? That we’re not, you know, bad or something?”

“I love you, Dean, I really do, but you are an idiot. You and your brother both are ten times the man your daddy was.”

 

* * *

 

_To the angel of the church in Smyrna write:_

_The one who is victorious will not be hurt at all by the[second death.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+2%3A11&version=NIV)_

 

It takes zero convincing to elicit Jo’s help to get to Crowley. She gets them inside the gate in a matter of minutes.

“So. The Hardy Boys finally found me. Took you long enough,” Crowley says in a thick European accent Sam can’t quite place.

The dude’s weird, but not in a scary way. He’s weird in that he’s actually really helpful. Within five minutes he’s tossed the gun over and told them that the devil’s going to be in Carthage, Missouri, on Thursday. Then he calls them morons and disappears. Well then.

Dean speeds on the drive back to Bobby’s, and it looks like the only thing pumping through his body is pure adrenaline.

“Dean? Are you all right?”

“What? Yeah. I’m fired up, man. That was—we got the Colt. We got the fucking Colt. I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah, that was pretty easy.”

“I mean, we’re probably going to die, but at least I—uh, never mind.”

“But at least you what?”

Dean shifts uncomfortably, and his mood deflates. “I said never mind.”

Sam adds it to his growing list of things he’s letting slide with Dean.

 

* * *

 

[“He was a dragon actually.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+12%3A3-9&version=NIV) Red. He had, um, seven heads. There were two horns on five of his heads, but the other two—they were the ones in the middle, and their horns would have knocked if he had them. There were crowns on his heads, too. I never heard what they were made out of or what they looked like, but I imagine they must have looked ridiculous on all but his two human heads. Gabriel could probably confirm my suspicions, but I have never thought to ask him. Michael was the one who brought him down. Hurled him to earth, where he lost all but his tail and ended up a serpent.”

Jo stares at Cas and wishes she were drunker for this. She likes him a lot, but he’s definitely on the scary side of intense. It’s actually kind of amusing, watching him contain all that power in a suburban dad, trying to get drunk for his presumably last night alive.

“So the big battle, that actually happened?” her mom asks.

Cas nods vigorously. “I did not exist yet, but yes. Most of the information I just told you is in your Bible.”

Jo takes another shot. “All that shit in Revelations actually going to happen, then?”

“Revelation.”

“What?”

“You said Revelations, but the name of the book is Revelation,” Cas explains. “Because although it is a series of events, it is all the same revelation Balthazar allowed John to witness.”

“Who the fuck is Balthazar?”

“Language, Joanna Beth.”

“Balthazar is one of my brothers, the angel who hasn’t done much in the way of anything since God commanded him to show the apostle John end times. He’s probably out fornicating with multiple women as we speak,” Cas finishes bitterly.

“Sounds a little judgmental for a guy drinking to forget right now,” Jo counters.

Cas just glares at her and takes six more shots.

Yeah, she definitely likes Cas. She likes how he stares when he’s talking, but he barely looks at you when _you’re_ talking. She catches him looking in Dean’s direction more often than anywhere else, and she thinks he might be checking to make sure he’s still there, still safe. It’s adorable, and she definitely plans on asking him about it as soon as Dean’s out of earshot.

Speak of the devil, Dean appears right behind her as she’s getting another beer out of the fridge. He’s standing close enough for her to smell the whiskey on his breath, and Jo would be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to the cartoonishly large eyes staring down at her. She’s always liked Dean, since the moment she watched him try to subtly check out guys in that bar all those years ago.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Dean leans against the counter, and Jo’s glad to have her personal space back. “So. Dangerous mission tomorrow. Guess it’s time to, you know, eat, drink and…make merry.”

Oh god, that was bad. “Are you giving me the last night on earth speech?”

“What?”

“What?”

“No.” He laughs awkwardly before continuing, “But, uh, if I was, would, uh—would that work?"

He’s lucky he’s cute because Dean seriously needs some help in the flirting department. Jo sets her beer down and gets right up close to him until their noses bump. Then she pulls back right before he kisses her and says, “No. Sweetheart, you sure you’re giving this speech to the right person?”

“Excuse me?”

“Dumb isn’t a good look on you,” she says before winking, nodding toward Cas and leaving Dean spluttering.

They wake up early to head to Carthage, and somehow Cas ends up in Jo and her mom’s car. Great, now she has the chance to ask Cas how he feels about Dean.

“Cas, what was it like pulling Dean out of hell?”

Her mom turns to glare at her, but she just shrugs in response.

“It was difficult to be in a place so vile. But once I got to—” Cas stops himself short.

“Once you got to what?” Jo urges.

Cas sighs loudly and turns to look out the window. “Dean’s soul was a bright light in an abysmal place. Clinging to him made it much easier on the return trip.”

“Wow. Never tell _him_ that,” Mom says.

“What do you think of Dean now, Cas?"

Another glare from Mom.

“I, uh, I think we should stay focused on the mission.”

“You really care about him, don’t you?”

“Yes, I care about him and Sam very much.”

“Yeah, but—”

“That’s enough, Joanna Beth.”

Carthage is a ghost town. Cas claims there are reapers everywhere, and then he promptly goes to talk to them or something. It’s unnerving.

When they meet up with Sam and Dean again, they’re pissed (especially Dean) that they lost Cas. It’s tense as they stalk through the empty streets with their guns ready, and then—

“There you are.”

They all turn to see a small woman with dark hair and pale skin smirking at them from several feet away.

“Meg,” Sam exclaims, and the way he says her name doesn’t really bode well for them.

“You really shouldn’t have come here, boys.”

“I could say the same for you,” Dean says as he steps forward and points the Colt at Meg.

“I didn’t come here alone, Deano.”

Meg gestures to her right, and an invisible dog growls. Hellhounds? Jo’s never met one before, didn’t realize they were invisible. Awesome.

Dean’s shoulders readjust, and even from behind, Jo can tell that he’s scared shitless. He looks to Mom for reassurance before aiming the Colt at the dog and shooting.

Everything’s a blur after that.

Jo’s drifting in and out of consciousness in Dean’s arms. She’s got her hand on her side, but she can’t feel anything. There’s blood. A lot of it. She can still hear the hellhounds. She really just…wants to sleep.

They’re in a convenient store or something. Dean sets her down on the floor, and it takes everything she’s got just to keep breathing. A pain sears down her side suddenly, and that’s when she realizes how bad it is. Her body initially went into shock so she didn’t feel anything, but now. Now she knows she’s dying. And they’re stuck in here with Lucifer on the other side of the door.

“It’s OK, you’re going to be OK, all right, honey? You’re going to be fine.”

Jo lets her mom’s words soothe her even though she knows they’re not true.

Faintly, she hears Sam and Dean discussing a game plan from across the room, and they’re trying to figure out a way to get her and her mom out of there safely. They actually believe she can get out of this. Alive. Unbelievable.

“Guys, stop,” she manages to say loudly enough for them to hear. “Can we, uh, be realistic about this please?”

They move closer to her.

“I can’t move my legs. I can’t be moved. My guts are being held in by an Ace bandage. We got to—we got to get our priorities straight here. Number one, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Joanna Beth, you—”

“Mom. I can’t walk. I can’t fight. But I can do something…We’ve got everything we need.”

“Everything we need?” Sam asks.

“To build a bomb.”

“No. Jo, no,” Dean says sternly.

She doesn’t have time for this. As if they wouldn’t be thinking the same thing if they were in her position. “You got a better plan? _Any_ other plan? Those are hellhounds out there, Dean.”

Her mom’s protesting, then crying, then they’re all moving. Doing what she asked, following her plan. She’s glad. She’s glad she gets to help even just a little, and…selfishly, she’s glad to be missing out on the end of the world.

It’s difficult to focus, and when Sam comes by and takes her hand, she’s not sure if he says anything or not before he gets up and Dean replaces him.

Dean. There are so many things she didn’t get to say to him. So many things she’s not going to get to see happen for him.

While he’s getting the trigger set up, he looks her in the eye and says, “See you on the other side? Probably sooner than later.”

“Make it later,” she pleads.

He cups her hand in both of his as he gives her the button, and he feels warm and safe and reassuring.

They look at each other for a moment and both decide to leave everything unsaid. Then Dean kisses her firmly on the forehead, softly on the lips. She loves him, he loves her. It’s like saying goodbye to a war buddy, saying goodbye to the guy she leaned up against when it was raining in the trenches and they didn’t want to sleep in the mud.

Then her mom’s there, and Jo knows she can do anything as long as her mom is there.

Except her mom wants to stay. Stay and die with her. She tries to protest, but she knows when her mom has made up her mind.

“You got me, Jo,” her mom says. “You’re right, this is important. But I will not leave you here alone.”

She hears her mom tell her she loves her, and then she falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

“Dean. Kick it in the ass. Don’t miss. And boy, don’t you forget everything I told you.”

It’s the last thing Ellen says to him.

He’s losing both of them.

He’s—

There aren’t really any words.

 

* * *

 

_To the angel of the church in Ephesus write:_

_Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love. Remember the height from which you[have fallen!](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+2%3A4-5&version=NIV) _

 

Castiel is standing in a ring of holy fire talking to the devil about the confining nature of automobiles. It’s not the most glamorous thing that has happened to him in his few thousand years of existence.

“What a peculiar thing you are.”

Not the first time Cas has heard it (the first time was when he was caught watching David and Jonathan lie with one another), and hopefully it won’t be the last.

Lucifer tells him he admires his loyalty to the Winchesters, and Castiel decides against mentioning that he learned the trait from the older brother.

“You are not taking Sam Winchester. I won’t let you.”

“Castiel. I don’t understand why you’re fighting _me._ Of all the angels.”

He refrains from rolling his eyes. “You really have to ask?”

“I rebelled, I was cast out. You rebelled, you were cast out. Almost all of heaven wants to see me dead, and if they succeed, guess what? You’re their new public enemy number one. We’re on the same side whether you like it or not, so…you might as well serve your best interests, which, in this case, just happen to be mine—”

“I’ll die first.”

“I suppose you will.”

Lucifer starts to leave, but Cas stops him. “What did you do to this town?”

Surprise lights up the devil’s face. “Oh, you didn’t see?”

“See _what?”_

“The two men in sackcloth? Lying in the street outside, reapers and demons gazing on them? Ringing any bells?”

“The two witnesses.”

“Ding ding ding! Good job, Castiel. Their three and a half years are up. They were really subtle, you know, very hard to find. They wreaked havoc in ways I wasn’t expecting. Nobody was, really. You know—”

“How long have they been in the street?”

Lucifer stops his pacing to smirk at Castiel. “Three days. I imagine your Winchesters will be here to watch it happen. [Seven thousand people…”](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+11%3A3-13&version=NIV) he makes an exploding sound while miming fireworks.

This is all happening faster than Castiel ever imagined it would.

 

* * *

 

The Colt fails.

Dean’s unconscious.

Satan tries to convince Sam that they’re just alike.

The two witnesses rise.

The ground starts to shake.

Castiel shows up and flies them out.

Seven thousand people die in Carthage.

Ellen and Jo's deaths were unjustified.

 

* * *

 

_To the angel of the church of Laodicea write:_

_So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of[my mouth.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+3%3A14-16&version=NIV)_

 

Dean starts drinking more. Or maybe he’s always been drinking this much, but Sam just hasn’t noticed. In any case, it’s safe to say his brother’s an alcoholic. Luckily, he only gets _really_ drunk on nights that he actually plans on sleeping, so it hasn’t been a problem on hunts. His tolerance is absurd.

They haven’t talked about what happened. Bobby burned the picture of all of them that was taken right after Castiel so eloquently stated that they would probably all die the next day. Aside from the absence of Jo and Ellen, there’s no evidence that they were ever even in Carthage.

It was all for nothing.

So yeah, Dean’s drinking more.

It’s dumb, really. They keep taking stupidly simple cases while the world burns around them. But they’re stuck. They have no idea what else to do until they get another lead. It’s infuriating.

Anna visits Dean in a dream (“She found me in a strip club.” “Men or women?” “Women. God, why do you always have to ask that?”), and Sam thinks he might just have been drunk until Castiel shows up and tells them that Anna flew back to 1978 to stop their births by killing their parents.

Cas nearly dies in the process of flying them back in time, and Dean checks him into a motel under the pretense that they’re a couple. Thank God the ‘70s were slightly more progressive than the ‘60s.

Mom is breathtaking. Sam stops caring about everything else when he sees her. Fuck Anna, fuck the apocalypse, fuck fate and destiny and all that garbage. This is a glimpse of a life he’s never had, and that’s just. It blows.

There’s nothing they can do.

They can’t change anything.

Michael burns Anna right out of her body.

He tells Dean that their fates were decided from the beginning of time. Their line goes as far back as Cain and Abel. There is absolutely nothing they can do to change anything at all.

“This is it.”

“This is what?”

“Team Free Will. One ex-blood junkie. One dropout with six bucks to his name. And Mr. Comatose over there.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

 

* * *

 

_To the angel of the church in Sardis write:_

_I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead. Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your deeds complete in the sight of[my God.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+3%3A1-2&version=NIV)_

 

Dean loves unattached drifter Christmas. One year it took him seven minutes at the bar before he left with a chick who had a sex swing in her basement.

Another year he met a dude at a diner who had just been dumped by his girlfriend. Dean was certain the guy was straight and that they were just having a nice conversation (granted, a two-hour conversation) until the guy grabbed his hand and asked if he lived nearby. The guy gave the sloppiest blow job Dean’s ever gotten, and it was awesome.

A less dignified but still just as awesome year he went on an online dating website and picked one from a slew of couples who were looking for a bisexual person to have a threesome with. (Yeah, it’s low. Cliché. He knows. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t fucking awesome.)

Not to mention all the discount candy on February 15 every year.

Dean absolutely loves Valentine’s Day.

“It’s when a dog doesn’t eat, that’s when you know something’s wrong.”

Sam’s right of course. This is the first Valentine’s Day Dean hasn’t wanted to be with somebody since Patrick Carpenter ripped up his card and called him the F word in ninth grade. For some reason he’s just…not really feeling it.

He doesn’t think anything of it when Sam tells him to call Cas, but then Cas is standing right there six inches from his face and it’s Valentine’s Day and Dean remembers 2014 a lot more vividly than he would like.

Except Dean’s still not feeling anything. Usually he would be at least a little bit of a combination of terrified and turned on in front of Cas, but nothing.

They go to a restaurant and suddenly nothing sounds less appealing to Dean than eating.

What the hell.

Lucky for them, it doesn’t take long to figure out that it’s another horseman. Famine, specifically.

Dean tries not to let it bother him that he’s completely unaffected while Cas eats literally hundreds of cheeseburgers and Sam—well, Sam’s locked in a bathroom far away from demons. Dean tells Cas he thinks he’s not affected because he’s well fed. While that might be true, he knows he’s lying.

He’s unaffected because he doesn’t crave anything. At least not for himself.

“You can lie to yourself, you can lie to your brother, but you can’t lie to me. I can see inside you, Dean. How broken you are, how defeated—you know you can’t win. Just keep fighting, just keep going through the motions. You’re not hungry, Dean, because inside? You’re already dead.”

_And boy, don’t you forget everything I told you._

_Not even if you had spent a hundred more years in hell and come back with black eyes, boy._

_I love you, Dean, I really do, but you are an idiot. You and your brother both are ten times the man your daddy was._

Sam comes in with blood on his mouth and gets Famine’s ring.

Dean prays to God for the first time in his life.

 

* * *

 

Bobby’s wife comes back to life and tries to teach Dean what it’s like to be in love.

Sam has to kill the sheriff’s—Jody Mills’ son.

Bobby has to kill his wife a second time.

They barely have time to grieve before there’s news of another town where everyone is “acting suspiciously.” They drive for two days straight to find that nothing seems to be wrong.

That is until Sam spots a young woman with “666” tattooed across her forehead.

They try to get lunch at a fast food place and are refused service because “you’re not marked.”

It’s then that they start to notice that everyone in this town has [“666”](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+13&version=NIV) tattooed onto their right hands or foreheads. Surprisingly, the first person they ask about it immediately says, “It’s the mark of the miracle worker. You can meet him at Glen’s Tattoos.” They didn’t even have to pull out their badges or prompt him for information or anything.

There are people, presumably sick people, waiting outside the tattoo joint, but they aren’t in a line and the front door is open, so Sam and Dean walk right in and are told exactly which room to go to in order to meet “the miracle worker.”

The guy is beautiful and soft-spoken, and he has small horns curling up on either side of his chin that look like they’re made of ivory. They contrast his brown skin eloquently. When he starts speaking of his predecessor and all of the great things he’s doing on earth, Sam and Dean don’t really care what he’s saying—they’ll go along with whatever as long as he just keeps on talking.

They’re offering their right hands in an almost trance-like state when Castiel appears in front of them and flies them out to the street.

“Dude, what the hell? We were about to be—” Dean asks.

“Do you see that statue?” Cas points to the end of the street.

It appears to be the same ivory as the miracle worker’s horns, and it looks like some kind of sea creature. Except it has seven heads and 10 horns, the feet of a bear, mouth of a lion—and a gash as if from a sword tracing four of its faces.

“We have to get you out of this town,” Cas states. “Once the beast has marked every person here, he will move on. You can’t stop it.”

“So what?” Sam asks.

“The world ends, that’s what. We’re flying out of here. If that ink touches your skin, I won’t be able to help you.”

Even after they escape, Sam and Dean are tempted to return for the following week after. They don’t understand why Cas is making such a big deal out of a little tattoo.

 

* * *

 

_To the angel of the church in Thyatira write:_

_I know your deeds, your love and faith, your service and perseverance, and that you are now doing more than you did at first. Nevertheless, I have this[against you…](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+2%3A18-20&version=NIV)_

 

It’s not the first time Dean watches his brother die, and if he’s being realistic it probably won’t be the last.

He doesn’t even care when the hunters turn their guns on him. If he ends up back in hell, well, they’re all headed there soon anyway. Not to mention the fact that the chances of him and Sammy being revived almost immediately are pretty solid. So really this whole getting shot and killed thing is no big deal.

Dean doesn’t wake up in hell. He wakes up in his car.

Sam runs up to him, but it’s not Sam. Not _now_ Sam. It takes Dean a second to figure it out, but then he realizes that he’s in a memory. A really good memory.

Except it doesn’t feel very good at all to look down at this bright-eyed, hopeful Sammy knowing that his innocence has since been destroyed. This might be a good memory, but that’s all it is. A memory.

Castiel tells him he’s in heaven, and honestly Dean wasn’t expecting to ever hear that in his life or afterlife or whatever. Heaven implies that he’s in God’s house—like where God _lives_ —and that seems like the last place he really wants to be right now.

“How are _we_ in heaven?” Sam asks once Dean finds him in a memory that is pointedly Dean-less. Not that it bothers Dean or anything.

“All that clean living I guess.”

“No, no, uh, OK, _you_ I get. But me? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but, um, I’ve… _done_ a few things?”

Really? Sammy thinks he’s more fucked up than Dean is? All right then. “You thought you were doing the _right_ thing.”

“Last I checked, heaven’s not the road paved with good intentions.”

Dean relives a memory from when he was just a toddler and he told his mom he loved her. It comes out easy and instinctive because when he was a kid he said it and meant it every single day. He’d forgotten that this version of himself existed at one point. Innocent, cared for, easily loved. Unbroken.

It’s not long before shit hits the fan and they end up sitting in the Roadhouse learning from Ash (of all people) that there are multiple heavens with the Garden of Eden in the center of it all. He explains how he worked out a system to find people, and _god_ —Dean forgot how strangely attractive this guy was with his casual brilliance and his dumb mullet. That’s quickly overshadowed, however, by the fact that Ash hasn’t found Ellen and Jo yet. Which means—who knows if they even ended up here?

It turns out Pamela was visiting Ash when they arrived, so Dean sits and talks to her while Sam and Ash try to figure out the equation to get to the Garden.

“You still taking it up the ass, Dean?”

He nearly chokes on his drink. This is not the conversation he expected to be having right now. “How did you—”

“Takes one to know one. I just never asked, ‘cause I knew you were kind of messed up when we met.”

“So you’re…?”

“Bisexual, as the kids these days call it. I thought hell might’ve straightened you out.” She laughs at her own joke before taking a drink of whiskey.

“No, I, uh, just needed some time is all.”

“That’s good. I’m proud of you, Dean. And hey,” she lifts her glass, “congratulations to us.”

“For what?” Dean asks as they clink glasses.

“For proving that queers go to heaven.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Dean says with a laugh, but in reality he feels relieved. After all the shitty things he’s done in his life and for how shitty he _is_ , he still somehow managed to end up here. In spite of all the bad. Maybe Sammy’s wrong, and heaven really is the road paved with good intentions.

It only takes a few more minutes for Ash to figure out the equation, and then they’re saying their goodbyes and it’s way too soon.

Pamela pulls Dean down for a kiss and then announces that it was just like she imagined it, and that makes Dean blush a little. Because he had definitely imagined it a lot, too.

And then out of nowhere Ash is pulling him down for a much sloppier kiss and Dean is so surprised that he makes a whining noise in the back of his throat and Ash pulls back, ruffles his hair and says confidently, “Thought you might be into me down on earth.”

“You’re gay?”

“Course not. But who cares up here, right?”

Sam’s laughing so hard that Dean has to shove him through the door.

They don’t make it to the Garden. They end up back at home, in the dark, and some twisted version of their mom is there. She begins to tell Dean what it was like to burn to death. This—this is not a memory.

“The one silver lining is that at least I was away from you. Everybody leaves you, Dean. You noticed? Mommy, Daddy, even Sammy. Ever ask yourself why? Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s you.”

It’s nothing Dean hasn’t heard before, but coming from his mom…

He tries to remember the good things people have told him. The good things his mom has told him. Nothing comes to mind.

Zachariah appears and begins to interrogate them until he’s cut off by an older black man who apparently wants to speak with them because God commands it. Everything shifts and suddenly they’re standing in a garden. What is going on.

“This is—heaven’s Garden?” Sam asks.

“You see what you want to here. I believe for you two it’s the Cleveland Botanical Gardens. You came here on a field trip.”

“You’re Joshua?”

“I’m Joshua.”

Their conversation is infuriating after that. Joshua tells them that God says to back off. That the apocalypse isn’t his problem. That he’s intervened enough in their lives and he’s done, magic amulet or not.

“So he’s just going to sit back and watch the world burn?” Dean asks.

“I know how important this was to you, Dean. I’m sorry.”

The worst part is that he actually sounds sorry. “Forget it. Just another deadbeat dad with a bunch of excuses, right? Nah, I’m used to that. I’ll muddle through.”

“Except you don’t know if you can this time. You can’t kill the devil. You’ve lost faith in yourself, in your brother. God was your last hope. I just—I wish I could tell you something different.”

As hard as it is for Dean to hear, it’s even harder when they’re alive again and have to share the news with Castiel. The guy looks heartbroken, and it’s enough to shred any last bit of hope Dean might’ve had in anything.

“I don’t need this anymore. It’s worthless,” Cas says as he tosses the amulet back at Dean.

“We’ll find another way. We can still stop all this, Dean,” Sam says.

Dean can’t believe his brother. He still has conviction after everything they’ve been through. It’s the first time Dean doesn’t envy him for it.

 

* * *

 

_To the angel of the church in Pergamum write:_

_You did not renounce your faith[in me.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+2%3A13&version=NIV)_

People start to disappear right out of their homes, jobs, bathrooms—leaving just their shoes behind. When it finally stops, there are exactly [144,000 people](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+14%3A1-5&version=NIV) missing.

Starting in China, people marked with the number of the beast begin to die of [sores all over their bodies.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+16%3A2&version=NIV) Within three days, the populations of four different cities around the world have been obliterated.

The Great Lakes turn to [blood.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+16%3A3&version=NIV)

The whore of Babylon is more subtle in her tactics. That is, until Dean finds her [drinking blood](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+17%3A6&version=NIV) out of a golden goblet and drives a stake through her chest.

It works. Only a servant of heaven, a righteous man, is supposed to be able to kill the whore. Which means Dean’s decision has already been made.

He’s going to say yes to Michael.

 

* * *

 

It’s not hard to find Dean. He’s holed up in a motel room drinking whiskey and writing his death note, and Sam wants nothing more than to hit him in the face for this bullshit.

It doesn’t get any better when Castiel flies them back to Bobby’s. Cas is pissed, Dean says things to Bobby he doesn’t mean, and then suddenly _Adam_ is there saying that _he’s_ going to say yes to Michael.

Jesus Christ, Sam would rather be out fighting than playing house with a bunch of morons who can’t get along.

It’s just about the last straw when Dean tells him he doesn’t believe in him. That he’s self-righteous and angry and that Lucifer’s going to wear him to the prom. Sam really fucking wishes his brother would quit projecting his own shit onto him. Not that Dean isn’t right. He is. But he’s also a hypocrite.

Adam disappears.

Castiel shows up with a semi-unconscious Dean and is very awkward as he explains that he beat him up in an alley. Sam feels like that’s probably not the whole truth, but now’s not the time to ask.

“You know I’m going to say yes. And you’re going to let me go with you?” Dean asks.

“No you won’t. When push comes to shove, you’ll make the right call.”

“If the tables were turned, I’d let you rot in here. Hell, I _have_ let you rot in here.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m not that smart.”

“I don’t get it, Sam. Why you doing this?”

“Because. You’re still my big brother.”

Dean says yes.

Sam’s lying on the floor bleeding out, and Zachariah is calling Michael down, and—

Dean winks at Sam.

And stabs Zachariah through the face.

 

* * *

 

“Sam. Dean. You’re probably wondering what the hell’s going on. Well, if you’re watching this, I’m dead. Oh please, enough sobbing. It’s embarrassing for all of us. Without me, you’ve got zero shot of killing Lucifer. Sorry. But. You can trap him. The cage you sprung Lucifer from, it’s still down there. And maybe—just maybe—you can shove his ass back in. Now, it won’t be easy. You got to get the cage open, trick my bro back into it, and, uh, oh yeah—avoid Michael and the God squad. But hey? Details, right? And here’s the big secret Lucifer himself doesn’t even know. The key to the cage? It’s out there. Actually, it’s keys. Plural. Four keys. Four rings from the horsemen. You get them all, you’ve got the cage. Kids, I’m betting on you. But hey, I’ve been wrong before. And Dean, you were right. I was afraid to stand up to my brother. But not anymore. So this is me standing up. And this is me lying down.”

 

* * *

 

They hear rumors that Pestilence has [wormwood](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+8%3A11&version=NIV) and is beginning to infect water mains.

Dean trusts Crowley about as far as he can throw him, but they’re a little more than desperate when he shows up in the back of the Impala and tells them how to find Pestilence.

Brady was a friend of Sam’s in college. Got possessed during their sophomore year. Introduced Sam to Jess. Made sure Sam was the perfect soldier Yellow Eyes needed.

Dean’s heart breaks for his brother, it really does, but he doesn’t know how to react to the rage. Sam is so angry and always _constantly_ on the edge of blowing up and—

It’s just a matter of time before he does something really stupid.

 

* * *

 

Sam’s stupid decision is that he’s going to say yes to Lucifer.

Fantastic.

The only good news they’ve gotten in a while is that Cas is alive. The bad news is that he’s stuck in a hospital in who the fuck knows where, and he’s got no angel mojo left.

“Dean, I owe you an apology,” he says over the phone.

“Cas, no—this isn’t really a good time to—”

“You said no to Michael. You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man I believed you to be.”

As much as it hurts to hear that Cas ever actually _did_ think that, it’s still comforting to know he’s changed his mind. “Thanks, Cas. I really appreciate that.”

When they cut the ring off Pestilence’s finger, he tells them it’s too late.

If it’s wormwood, they’re screwed.

Croatoan virus, less screwed.

Dean meets Death and nearly shits his pants the guy’s so fucking metal. It’s terrifying when he hands the ring over and tells him he can’t cheat death (Dean doesn’t correct him). He even takes the time to demonstrate to Dean how the rings operate together. He leaves Chicago with the utmost respect for the horseman.

Except for the fact that he lied to him. Told him he would let Sam say yes to Satan.

Awesome.

“Sam’s been running into burning buildings since he was 12. He’s got a lot of bad in him, but he’s got a lot of good in him, too. So I got to ask you, Dean. What are you more afraid of: losing, or losing your brother?”

 

* * *

 

_To the angel of the church in Philadelphia write:_

_Since you have kept my command to endure patiently, I will also keep you from the hour of trial that is going to come upon the whole world to test those who live on[the earth.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+3%3A10&version=NIV) _

On April 21, 1967, the 100 millionth GM vehicle rolled off the line at the plant in Janesville—a blue two-door Caprice. There was a big ceremony, speeches. The lieutenant governor even showed up.

Three days later, another car rolled off that same line. No one gave two craps about her. But they should have, because this 1967 Chevrolet Impala would turn out to be the most important car—no, the most important _object_ —in pretty much the whole universe.  
  
She was first owned by Sal Moriarty, an alcoholic with two ex-wives and three blocked arteries. On weekends, he'd drive around giving Bibles to the poor "gettin' folks right for Judgment Day." That's what he said. Sam and Dean don't know any of this, but if they did, I bet they'd smile.  
  
After Sal died, she ended up at Rainbow Motors, a used-car lot in Lawrence, where a young marine bought her on impulse. That is, after a little advice from a friend. I guess that's where this story begins.

And here’s where it ends.

Dean’s not sure when it happened, but he’s finally found his faith in Sam again. The end of the world is coming, and all they have left is each other. But there’s no time for sentimentality.

Sam drinks an impossible amount of demon blood. He might be irreversibly changed from it, but the Winchesters aren’t too worried about that right now. They are both very aware that only one of them has any chance of coming out of this alive.

The devil’s in Detroit, so they head there.

The Impala, of course, has all the things other cars have...and a few things they don't. But none of that stuff's important.

This is the stuff that's important. The army man that Sam crammed in the ashtray—it's still stuck there. The Legos that Dean shoved into the vents—to this day, heat comes on and they can hear them rattle. These are the things that make the car theirs—really theirs. Even when Dean rebuilt her from the ground up, he made sure all these little things stayed, 'cause it's the blemishes that make her beautiful. The devil doesn't know or care what kind of car the boys drive.

If you’re reading this sometime in the future, you know that some people probably think the Impala had a mind of its own. A soul of sorts. While Dean would be flattered to hear this, it’s not exactly true. The car has life in it, yes, but only because Sam and Dean (especially Dean) believe in her. She is only as powerful as far as the boys let her be. Like a tulpa, she exists simply because they think it. It is _their_ souls in her chassis.

Lucifer knows about the rings of course. But it doesn’t change anything, and Sam still says yes. Dean still tries to open the door to the cage. It looks like it might all work after all.

It doesn’t.

Dean is left with Bobby and Castiel, both of whom believe there is nothing else they can do.

But Dean’s a lot more stubborn than that. He lost his faith once before; he’s not doing it again.

In between jobs, Sam and Dean would sometimes get a day—sometimes a week, if they were lucky. They'd pass the time lining their pockets. Sam used to insist on honest work, but now he hustles pool, like his brother. They could go anywhere and do anything. They drove 1,000 miles for an Ozzy show, two days for a Jayhawks game. And when it was clear, they'd park her in the middle of nowhere, sit on the hood and watch the stars for hours without saying a word. It never occurred to them that, sure, maybe they never really had a roof and four walls, but they were never, in fact, homeless.

This is where I enter the story. Again. I tell Dean that the battle is happening at Stull Cemetery in Lawrence. Fitting, to finish where everything started.

Def Leppard’s “Rock of Ages” comes on the radio as soon as Dean’s driving up to the cemetery. Sometimes the car just knows what’s right.

The devil accounted for a lot of variables. Most of the variables, actually. He was calculated and brilliant and stayed three steps ahead of the Winchesters at all times.

The one thing he did not account for, the one thing he underestimated, is just how much Sam and Dean love one another.

So much that all it took was Sam seeing an army man sticking out of the ashtray in order for him to beat the devil.

Endings are hard.

Any chapped-ass monkey with a keyboard can poop out a beginning, but endings are impossible. You try to tie up every loose end, but you never can. The fans are always going to bitch. There's always going to be holes. And since it's the ending, it's all supposed to add up to something. I'm telling you, they're a raging pain in the ass.

Castiel asks Dean the same question Dean asked Castiel a year ago.

“What would you rather have, peace or freedom?”

This is the last Dean and Bobby will see of each other for a very long time. And, for the record, at this point next week, Bobby will be hunting a rugaru outside of Dayton. But not Dean. Dean didn't want Cas to save him. Every part of him, every fiber he's got, wants to die, or find a way to bring Sam back. But he isn't going to do either. Because he made a promise.

So, what's it all add up to? It's hard to say. But me, I'd say this was a test for Sam and Dean. And I think they did all right. Up against good, evil, angels, devils, destiny, and God himself, they made their own choice. They chose family. And, well, isn't that kind of the whole point?

                                                                                                                                                                          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are all the Bible verses in order of when they appear in the chapter. It's all NIV, but my hard copy is an older version than biblegateway so there are some discrepancies. 
> 
> [Revelation 2:11](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+2%3A11&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 12:3-9](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+12%3A3-9&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 2:4-5](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+2%3A4-5&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 11:3-13](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+11%3A3-13&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 3:14-16](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+3%3A14-16&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 3:1-2](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+3%3A1-2&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 13](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+13&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 2:18-20](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+2%3A18-20&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 2:13](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+2%3A13&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 14:1-5](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+14%3A1-5&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 16:2](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+16%3A2&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 16:3](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+16%3A3&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 17:6](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+17%3A6&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 8:11](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+8%3A11&version=NIV)   
>  [Revelation 3:10](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+3%3A10&version=NIV)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year Dean spent with Lisa and Ben in between seasons 5 and 6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much all Dean/Lisa, so if that's not your thing feel free to skip. Dean's issues with gender expression are addressed in this chapter, and he wears women's clothing (specifically lingerie). There are also light dom/sub undertones, and Dean experiences sub drop. Oh, and it starts right off with pegging. I don't really know what happened here, I just really love Dean/Lisa ~sorry~
> 
> Discussions about Dean being suicidal, having anxiety, PTSD. Wanted to give a realistic picture of what he'd be like without Sam.

“You like that? You like how my cock feels inside of you?”

“Yeah. Please, god, yes. I need—please.”

“What is it you want, Dean? You can ask for anything.”

“Want you—please, move. Need you to move.”

“Like this?”

“Ah! Ah, uh, yeah. Yes. Like that.”

“Anything else? A hand on your cock maybe?”

“No, I’m—please. No.”

“Just on your chest and ass then? All right, if you insist.”

“ _God,_ oh my god, Lis—I’m going to—”

Dean comes hard—right onto their sheets. Fuck. He really didn’t want to have to change them tonight.

He collapses onto the bed, and Lisa takes her time pulling out of him and discarding the strap-on before draping herself over his back and massaging her small hands into the knots at his shoulders. Her weight is warm and heavy against him, and he wishes they were chest-to-chest instead. But he doesn’t really have the energy to turn over.

“That was the biggest one I’ve got. How are you feeling?”

“Fantastic,” Dean mumbles into the pillow.

Lisa’s laugh shakes their bodies against the bed. “You sure you don’t want me to get you some lingerie for next time?”

Dean blushes, and now he’s glad they’re not chest-to-chest. “No, it’s…it’s all right. You sure you’re not—you know, like, weirded out by all this?”

“Dean, you keep a flask of holy water and a gun under our bed. There’s salt lining our doors and a devil’s trap under our welcome mat. We’ve got—”

“OK, OK, I get it.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Lisa kisses the side of Dean’s neck and whispers in his ear, “You are one hell of a person, sweetheart.”

“Get off me, let me flip over.”

“What are you—”

“I’m hungry,” Dean growls as he readjusts his position and shoves his face between Lisa’s legs.

“Oh—oh, _god._ Yeah. Yeah, right there. _Dean.”_

 

When Dean showed up at Lisa Braeden’s house five months ago, he was suicidal.

He fell into her arms and dropped to his knees and silently cried right there in the foyer of her house. She didn’t say anything, and when he finally lifted his head off her chest, she wiped the tears from his eyes and kissed his eyelids and helped him off the floor and upstairs to bed with her. He slept like a dead man that night, curled against her chest and feeling safe in her arms. The world seemed a little less bleak in the morning.

Doesn’t mean he was magically better. Lisa rarely let him be alone those first couple of months. She let him drink and get angry and cry and go out back and shoot trees, and when he had nightmares (most nights) she rubbed his back and cooed at him until he’d calm down. She never asked any questions and she never mentioned Sam or anything. Ben stayed quiet, too, and Dean felt really bad that the kid had to deal with him. Sometimes he wondered if Lisa was an idiot for letting him stay. He could’ve been dangerous.

He was also good at faking it, though. He could slap on a smile, crack a joke, eat a meal at a table and do the dishes afterward. He was really good at fucking Lisa, so much so that the week he arrived she had to take a couple days off of work because she was so sore. That was a distraction, of course, and after fucking 23 times in a week and a half they didn’t do it again for two weeks. Dean had never felt worse about his behavior. He didn’t deserve this woman or her kid or her home. Yet here he is getting fucked with a strap-on for the first time since Rhonda Hurley, wondering why the hell he hasn’t started wearing women’s underwear again.

He’s starting to feel…Well, he’s starting to feel. He’s starting to feel like this could be his life. He could go to his 9 to 5 job in his pick-up truck and come home to his girlfriend and her kid and eat dinner with them and fall asleep in front of the television and do all the things grown-ups do until he’s fat and bald and has an AARP membership. Hell, he could even marry her one day if he really wanted. She’s already told him she’d say yes.

It’s never going to be perfect. A day hasn’t gone by that he hasn’t thought about how to bring Sammy back, that he hasn’t tried something stupid to see his brother again. It feels like half of himself is gone. Sometimes he’ll think of something while he’s driving and look to his right and say “hey, Sam,” before he remembers. When there’s a suspicious noise or something surprises him, he reaches for a gun that’s not there and turns to give a signal to a man that’s not there. He’s said things out loud to Sam without thinking, and every time it happens Lisa places a hand on his shoulder and looks into his eyes to ground him back in reality.

It hurts. He can’t love like he used to. Being with Lisa is nice, and the sex is great, but he doesn’t _feel_ anything. They go through the motions and they experience all the pleasures and they enjoy each other’s company, but hearts don’t fly out of their eyes when they look at one another. There are no butterflies, no sparks. The emotions are…platonic. The only saving grace is that it’s like that on Lisa’s end, too. Dean would feel terrible if she were in love with him and he couldn’t be in love with her. It’s nice being on the same page. The same unromantic page.

“I’ll get the sheets,” Dean says as he moves off the bed and pushes Lisa to get up, too. He barely gave her any time to recover from his tongue, but that’s the way she likes it. She doesn’t like being coddled like he does. He yanks the sheets out before she’s even all the way off the bed.

“Hey, you,” she says groggily.

He stops near the door and turns, bundling the sheets in his arms. “Yeah?”

“When you get back we’re talking about what we’re trying next.”

Dean blushes and averts his eyes. “Oh—OK, Lis.”

He takes his time with the laundry and stops in the kitchen to grab a pint of ice cream and two spoons before heading back upstairs. Lisa just laughs at him and takes a spoon. She finds it endearing that he’s always hungry after sex and that he doesn’t care if they get ants in their bed.

“Not putting new sheets on tonight?” he asks around a mouthful of brownie fudge.

“I don’t feel like getting them. So.”

“So.”

They smile stupidly at each other, ice cream between them. “Tell me about yourself, Dean.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“When I was pegging you earlier, you said you were a naughty little girl. There a reason for that?”

Lisa’s never asked for anything. She’s never pried, and she’s never questioned any of the weird shit that Dean does. So she must be asking about the most intimate details of his life because she wants to help him, not because she’s nosey. “I’m, um…”

“You know I won’t judge anything you say, right?”

Dean nods and shoves more ice cream in his mouth. The carton’s half empty already. “I’ve always liked women’s clothes. I used to, um, before Sammy and I were hunting together—I would go on a lot of hunts by myself and during downtime I’d—I’d go to malls and try on women’s clothing and…get turned on in the dressing rooms. I didn’t jerk off or anything, but, uh…yeah.” He can’t believe he’s saying this. He’s never…

“All right, so seeing yourself in women’s clothing turns you on. That’s good to know. Is there anything else?”

Lisa sounds so calm that Dean can’t help but trust her. She should’ve been a therapist. “I—I don’t, um, feel like a man sometimes? It’s hard to say. I mean, I’m not—I don’t think I’m transgender. But I don’t quite, um, fit the ‘binary’ or whatever it’s called.”

“So you like thinking of yourself as a girl in certain situations?”

“No—I mean, maybe? I don’t know. Sometimes it just feels better to say it. Feels right. But, um, right now it seems strange.”

They’re quiet for a while until all the ice cream is gone and the buzzer on the washing machine goes off.

“I want you to be yourself, Dean. All of you. I know your hetero-macho bullshit is bullshit. Don’t get me wrong, you’re tough as nails and I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be a monster in your way, but if you want to wear a dress and kick ass, then by all means.”

Dean huffs a laugh, and Lisa ruffles his hair like she does to Ben. “I’m going to get the laundry,” he mumbles before kissing her and moving off the bed again.

The next morning, Dean’s internal alarm wakes him up at 7 even though it’s Saturday. Lisa’s pressed up against his back with her arm draped over his chest. When he tries to move, she tightens her grip on him and pulls closer. Well, maybe they can get a little handsy before breakfast then.

Sure enough, after a few minutes Dean feels warm lips on his neck and a hand teasing at his belly. He moans, and Lisa’s hand quickly moves up to squeeze one of his pecs. Domesticity has made him even softer than he was before, and Lisa loves grabbing and pulling at all the places on him newly layered in fat. He loves it.

He grunts and pushes his ass back a little, and Lisa laughs and runs her hand down his side and under the waistband of his boxers so she can rub circles into his hipbone. Then she leans over him and bites his shoulder a few times.

“You going to roll over and let me ride you, or…?” she suggests in that sweet, innocent little voice of hers.

Dean grunts again and clears his throat. “Too tired.”

“Who said you had to do any work?” Lisa mumbles while she pushes Dean’s shoulder back to get him to lie flat.

In one swift motion she straddles Dean’s lap and kicks his boxers off with her feet. How did she even—

“Lis—oh my god,” Dean spits out as Lisa lines up and sinks down onto him. There was no prep or anything. Good thing she’s on birth control.

Dean locks his hands on Lisa’s hips and pretends like he has any control at all in how she rocks them. The truth is when she takes him like this, he’s basically just her man-sized vibrator. He gets to come of course, but it always takes an excruciatingly long time. Not only that, but they have to stay quiet so they don’t wake Ben up. He’s usually out until about 9 or so on the weekends so they’ve got some time.

It’s nice. Dean’s always liked being lazy in bed, and Lisa is really good at encouraging that kind of behavior. She’s really good at a lot of things in bed, actually. Probably—definitely the best partner he’s ever had.

They shower together, and Dean nearly falls asleep with his chin on Lisa’s shoulder as she reaches back to scrub shampoo in his hair. Ben’s already awake by the time they get downstairs, and Dean promises him breakfast will be ready in 20 minutes.

So this is how it goes. Dean makes breakfast, and then they watch whatever’s on TV together, and sometimes they go out in the afternoon but a lot of times Dean falls asleep in front of the TV and wakes up with Lisa asleep on top of him. Other times he works on the car he never drives anymore (just in case), and he teaches Ben all about car maintenance. They go to Ben’s baseball games a lot, hang out at the mall sometimes. Dean actually _knows_ the names of most of the teams in the NFL because he actually has the time to watch games every Sunday. He roots for the Colts because they get all their games on Fox or CBS every week.

He’s even got friends, too. There’s a couple of guys at work he goes out with every so often, and they’ve got several nice neighbors they go on double dates with and do all kinds of stuff normal adults are prone to doing. The people are nice, but they’re not all as privy to Dean’s privacy as Lisa is, and sometimes the questions put him in a corner. Usually Lisa saves him from a lot of awkward situations. She’s even gotten him through a few panic attacks—it happens sometimes when he’s in loud places or big crowds or even at home for no reason. Residual PTSD probably.

All in all, it’s not as bad as it could be. And hey, the world didn’t end. Like any of that matters to Dean now.

He hasn’t talked to Bobby, and he doesn’t pray to Castiel anymore. It reminds him too much of the life he lost. Not just his brother’s life, but his own, too. He doesn’t like thinking about all the terrible things happening in the world, all the people he’s not saving and monsters he’s not killing. Sam wouldn’t want him to be thinking about any of that, anyway.

Sam would want him to be happy. Problem is, it’s really hard to be happy when he knows Sammy is suffering.

It's really hard to be happy without Sam here.

 

* * *

 

It’s not always easy with Dean.

Lisa knows there are a lot of things about this man that she will never be able to comprehend. Luckily, that’s not her job. She loves him in the best way she knows how, and that’s about all she can do.

He can be difficult of course, and they’ve had their fair share of fights, but for the most part they’re happy together. Or at least _she_ thinks they are. He is attentive and gentle and selfless, and to be crass he’s a god in the sack. Or maybe they’re just really sexually compatible. Either way, it’s amazing.

Dean’s also an incredible father. He’s patient with Ben and encourages him in things he loves. He teaches him respect and discipline, but he also shows him how to be loving and generous. Sometimes it makes Lisa sad to watch them interact because she wishes Dean could’ve been around his entire life. And she worries their current arrangement isn’t permanent.

For their half anniversary, Lisa decided to do something brave. They had come a long way since a broken and tired man had dropped to his knees at her door, and she hoped Dean would be able to recognize that in her gift to him.

They’re not very big on romantic gestures, but Dean still makes a reservation at Lisa’s favorite restaurant for the event.

They’re sipping on milkshakes when Dean pulls a card out of his pocket and tosses it across the table.

“You said you didn’t want anything, but you’re always complaining about gas prices,” Dean says sheepishly as Lisa opens the card.

There’s a gas gift card in it for $100, which is probably the most practical and weirdly thoughtful gift she’s ever gotten. The card is also handmade by Ben and Dean, which Lisa knows because one day they decided they were _really_ into crafts and made a mess of the kitchen making all kinds of random crap. The inside is full of Dean’s handwriting, small and perfectly spaced and definitely not something she should read here if she doesn’t want to cry in public.

“Don’t read it here,” Dean says as if he can read her mind.

“I know. Thank you, Dean.” She folds up the card and puts it in her purse. Then she pulls out her gift and slides it across the table with a grin.

Dean looks like a kid at Christmas, and Lisa tries not to think about the fact that he’s probably never received a proper gift before. Or at least not in a very long time.

When he gets the wrapping paper off and sees the brand name on the box, he turns wide eyes at Lisa. “Is this…appropriate to open here?”

She winks. “Just—be discreet, all right?”

Dean gets even more excited then and gets eye level with the box so he only has to open it a tiny bit to see what’s inside. Once he does, he immediately flushes red and snaps it shut.

“Lis—you—I—”

“Let’s get out of here, huh?”

Fortunately they’ve already paid, and they don’t even bother finishing their milkshakes before rushing out hand-in-hand.

Dean speeds on the way home, and then they run up the stairs (Ben’s staying with a friend tonight, and for good reason) and slam the door of their bedroom shut, and that’s when everything slows down.

Dean’s a little hesitant as he pulls the contents out of the box and scrutinizes them. Lisa went all out, and now she’s wondering if she made the right decision. Maybe she should’ve just bought the satin panties instead of getting the red corset with matching G-string, garter belt and stockings. Maybe she got a little carried away.

But then Dean shoves the lingerie at Lisa for her to hold while he strips as fast as he can. He is strangely coordinated at taking his clothes off quickly, and Lisa sometimes wonders how often in his life he didn’t have time to actually undress properly—in sexual situations and otherwise.

In what feels like just a few seconds Dean is towering above her wearing _lingerie._ It appears she got the right size corset, because it pushes his pecs together exactly like it would do to breasts, and it ends right above his hips so he didn’t have to worry about cramming his growing love handles in there. The underwear is barely holding his cock in, and it’s already wet with his precome. The stockings accentuate how long and bowed his legs are, and this is really the first time she’s noticed how ridiculously hairless Dean’s entire body is.

He looks hot as fuck.

He stares down at her and breathes heavily like he’s nervous, and Lisa decides to give him some encouragement. She presses up close to him so their bodies are almost touching, and it’s weirdly erotic that she’s fully clothed. With her eyes still locked on his, she runs her hands up his hips and over the front of the corset, taking her time feeling his soft pecs. Then she slips her hands under his arms and around his back until she reaches his ass. She squeezes hard, and his eyes shut as he hums.

“Look at you,” she says reverently.

“Look at me,” he says with a goofy grin.

She steps back and takes his hand to lead him over to the full-length mirror on the back of their door. She stands behind him and hooks her chin on his shoulder so she can watch his reaction. He looks like he’s in shock as he inspects himself, turning this way and that to get the full picture.

Then he turns so fast he almost knocks Lisa over, but instead he catches her and wraps her legs around his waist and kisses her until they fall on the bed laughing.

“Happy half-iversary,” he whispers into the crook of her neck before moving back and pulling her jeans off.

“No,” she states simply, pushing the ball of her foot into his cheek before he gets any ideas. “On your stomach.”

He scurries up beside her and lies flat, and she takes her time sliding off the bed and positioning herself behind him.

“Arch up a little,” she commands quietly, and his ass comes off the bed just enough.

She takes his cheeks in her hands and massages the skin apart, and right as he moans and arches up more, she pulls the string to the side and licks her way into him.

They wake up a complete mess. Apparently they went so hard last night that they fell asleep seemingly in the middle of sex. Dean is lying face first horizontally across the bed with his head pillowed on Lisa’s legs, and she’s mostly naked save for the G-string on her head and the one stocking bunched up on her left foot to match the one on Dean’s right leg. The blankets are a mess, and all of the pillows are strewn across the floor. How did they even manage to fall asleep like this?

“Dean. _Dean_ , wake up,” she says groggily while trying to wiggle her legs to shake him.

Dean lifts his head, startled, and curls in on himself like he’s scared.

“Whoa, hey there, what’s going on?” she asks as she maneuvers around to sit next to him.

“Nothing,” he mumbles into the mattress.

“Dean?”

“Please—can you just—leave so I can change?”

Oh. He’s embarrassed about the lingerie. “Honey, if you’re em—”

“Lisa! Stop.”

Lisa sighs and goes to put on a robe so she can wait for Dean downstairs. They can have this conversation later when he’s clothed.

He does this sometimes, and she had a feeling it might happen today. Dean has never let himself want anything just _because_ , and now that he has nice things he feels selfish. He’s always asking himself, _why do I get to be happy when Sam’s gone?_ She knows this because he voices it more often than he realizes. And with this especially, where he’s learning things about himself and expressing himself _as an individual_ , it’s freaking him out. Dean’s never defined himself by anything other than the job—whether it’s saving people or taking care of his brother—and now that he has the opportunity to be the pure, unburdened and independent Dean Winchester, he has no clue how to handle it.

So he drinks, and he yells, and he panics at the smallest things. At one point, Lisa was so desperate and so afraid that he was going to hurt himself (or somebody else) one night that she suggested he should take up smoking weed. It was something they really enjoyed when they first met, and she thought maybe it would calm him down. It was a bad idea, short-lived thank goodness.

She just wishes there was more she could do to help. She wishes she could bring his brother back.

Dean pads into the kitchen in flannel pajama pants and a Henley that’s too big on him. He sinks down in a stool and drops his head in his hands.

“You ready to talk yet?” Lisa asks as she sets a mug of coffee in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he answers meekly.

“You were beautiful last night, you know that, right?”

He blushes and ducks his chin. “I, uh, it’s weird when you say shit like that, baby.”

“Sweetie, please talk to me. Let me take care of you.”

“I’m just embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“My dad would kill me,” Dean says to himself.

“Dean, there’s nothing wrong with you. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You know I would never mock you or anything, right?” She moves around the counter so she can sneak her arms around his waist and squeeze. “Frankly, you’re a rock star in bed.” She kisses his neck. “Ben’s gone all day. Let me draw a bath for us.”

Lucky for both of them, Lisa loves taking care of Dean.

And though he’d never admit it, Dean loves being taken care of.

 

* * *

 

Dean cuts himself on the band saw at work. He wasn’t paying attention to where his thumbs were placed when he was pushing the wood through, and now he’s sitting in the hospital getting three stitches in each thumb.

He gets two days off work, and he spends all of it reading books on how to raise Lucifer out of the cage so he can get Sammy back.

It’s been eight months. He had a real Christmas for the first time in his life. Tree and presents and stockings and everything. Lisa even made him hang lights up on the outside of their house, and he decided he really hates ladders. Come to think of it, he had a real Thanksgiving for the first time, too. They went to Lisa’s cousin’s house and there were at least 30 people there, and Lisa had to hold onto Dean’s arm or lean into his side the whole time so he wouldn’t have an anxiety attack. He coped by eating three plates of food and four pieces of pie, which was totally worth the stomach ache when Lisa gave him a fantastic belly rub that night and made fun of him for porking out (he’s only gained like 10 pounds, _maybe)._ He watched the ball drop on New Year’s for just the second time in his life, and he got a kiss at the end of the countdown for the first year ever.

His thumbs hurt, and he’s tired, and he misses Sam. But Lisa is great, and so is Ben, and Dean thinks he might be able to fully adjust to this life at some point. Maybe one day the good will outweigh the bad.

Lisa comes home to find him lying on the couch watching TV, and she asks how his thumbs are as she bangs around in the kitchen.

“I can’t text, but other than that I’m OK.”

“Lasagna all right for dinner?”

“Sounds great, honey.”

“Oh, um, I did something stupid today.”

Dean sits up and looks over to the kitchen. “What?”

“I accidentally told our neighbor Diane that you’re…you know.”

“A hunter? A freak? Queer? You need to be more specific, Lis.”

“Bisexual. It was after class, and she was asking about you—I told her about your thumbs and how you were at home for a couple days—and then she started to get really nosey and asked how you and I met, and I accidentally said you were checking out guys in a bar."

“And what’d she say?”

“Well, she was surprised, obviously. She asked me if you were gay and if we had some kind of weird platonic marriage thing—which I found amusing—and then I stood in the parking lot for 20 minutes explaining to her what bisexuality is.”

Dean laughs at how exasperated Lisa sounds. “It’s not so fun, is it?” He walks to the kitchen and leans over the counter.

“No. It’s not. How have you dealt with it all your life?”

“Poorly. With lots of half-truths and lame jokes. How’d she take it?”

“I’m still not sure she understood me completely. But she nodded and said that was interesting, and I’m sure the whole neighborhood knows by now. You’re not mad?”

“Nah, of course not. That’s like the least problematic thing about me these days.”

It’s weird that it’s true. Being in a long-term relationship has made Dean more comfortable in his sexuality (and clothing preferences which may or may not have something to do with his gender expression, he reminds himself as he shifts to feel the lace on his ass rubbing against denim) than he’s ever been in his life, and he couldn’t really give a rat’s ass if people know he thinks half the guys he works with are attractive. (It was a little strange the day he came home from his first day of work and when Lisa asked how it went he said his boss was hot. He froze, realizing who he was talking to, but Lisa just laughed and told him to keep his hands to himself. It turns out, however, that she doesn’t have a jealous bone in her body, whether it’s men or women or anybody.)

“Well, I’m definitely not letting that slip again. It was a nightmare.”

“What was a nightmare?” Ben asks as he sits at a stool.

“Nothing,” Dean and Lisa say in unison.

The kid doesn’t need to know about Dean’s sexual preferences. It’s not really relevant to a 12-year-old anyway.

Except at the nine-month mark when it becomes extremely relevant.

Ben has a computer in his room that he doesn’t know they monitor. It’s really just for his safety, like if all he ever did was watch porn or go into dangerous chat rooms then they would be a little concerned. But the kid mostly just plays online games and does his homework.

But one Monday night Dean’s checking his Internet activity for the first time in a week, and he comes across a porn website he recognizes.

“Lis. Come here a second,” he says seriously.

Lisa comes in from the bathroom and looks over Dean’s shoulder. “Is that porn?”

“It’s gay porn.”

“Men or women?”

“Men. Lis, I’m not sure—”

“You can talk to him, you know. At what age did you look up gay porn?”

“Well, gee, I didn’t have access to the Internet at age 12, and I was a little busy putting bullets in—”

“When did you start questioning your sexuality, smartass?”

“I don’t know, uh, 13? Maybe a little older. But I didn’t know bisexuality was a thing for a long time, so I thought I was just fucked up.” Still sometimes think that.

“Well, I think we need to be supportive. He should know that we’re here for him no matter what. Can you just—maybe try to talk to him? Come out to him?”

Dean drops his head back against Lisa’s stomach and sighs. “Fine, but you’re giving me a blow job later.”

“Of course, baby.”

When Dean knocks on the door of Ben’s room, he hears music shut off before a, “Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Ben’s sitting on his bed with homework spread out all around him. God, all the kid does is homework. And he’s only in seventh grade. Dean moves a notebook out of the way and takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Buddy, there’s something you should know about me,” Dean starts.

“You used to fight monsters and stuff, yeah, I know.”

“No, um. I mean, yeah, but you already knew that. You should know that I, um, I’m attracted to men.” Dean shuts his eyes and lets out a sigh.

“What? But you and Mom—”

“I’m attracted to women, too. Clearly. You ever hear of bisexuality?”

“Oh, uh, like that doctor on _House._ She’s bisexual.”

“Um, yeah? I guess. Anyway. My point is, it’s all right to be…you know, attracted to guys or whatever.”

“Dean. Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, I, um, you know…” This is not going well.

“Dean. _Do you and Mom think I’m gay?”_

“No! Well—um, gosh. Well. We monitor your browsing history, and—”

“ _You guys monitor my browsing history?”_

Nope, definitely not going well. “Just to make sure you’re safe! We only look to see if there are any red flags, that’s all. But that’s—we saw gay porn, Ben. And I just wanted to make sure—”

Ben starts laughing and presses his fingers into his eyes, and that’s definitely not the reaction Dean expected. “My asshole friend Louis looked up gay porn the other day while he was here, Dean.”

“Oh. Oh, OK. Then. Never mind.” Dean stands and heads for the door. “And watch your language.”

“Sorry. Hey, Dean.”

Dean turns and looks at his—not son. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming out to me. I know that had to be hard.”

“It’s no problem, buddy. Don’t make a big deal out of it. Get some sleep, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

When Dean recounts the story to Lisa, she laughs so hard she almost falls off their bed.

 

It’s 11 months before Dean really thinks he’s going crazy.

He starts seeing shit. It happens when he’s leaving the bar one night, and he ends up getting attacked by a freaking pigeon in an abandoned building. But there’s blood scratched into the walls, and that’s a little too suspicious not to check out.

It happens for the next two days. There are scratch marks on lampposts, tears in sheets hanging on clotheslines—he nearly shoots a Yorkie right in front of his neighbor. Lisa’s concerned, and he convinces her to take Ben and just get away for a while until he gets it all sorted out. It’s not something they need to get in the middle of.

Things start to get really trippy. He feels like he’s being suffocated in his own garage and there’s something there but he can’t figure out what and all the sudden Yellow Eyes is bearing down on him and—

He wakes up on a creaky excuse for a bed, staring into the face of his brother.

Sammy.

He must be dead then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to [Maeve](http://angelofbooze.tumblr.com/) for giving me the idea of queerplatonic Dean/Lisa!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First half of season 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot of season 6 is kind of like ??//??????/?/ so excuse me for glossing over *ahem* everything.
> 
> Warning for memories of hell, Megstiel I guess but that shit's canon.

God, how much more of this bullshit is he going to have to put up with. Yeah, yeah, I’m alive, I’m not a demon or a shapeshifter, you’re pissed at me for not telling you I was alive sooner because you missed me so much blah blah blah. Who the fuck cares. They have other shit to deal with right now that’s a whole hell of a lot more interesting than this brother bonding moment.

The issue is that Sam really needs his fucking brother back. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s just not as good of a hunter without Dean by his side. Well, sure, Sam’s by far the best hunter in the world right now, but he really sucks at the whole, like, _saving_ people thing. Bobby’s starting to get worried, and even though Sam doesn’t give a fuck he really needs to save his own skin here. He wants to keep doing what he’s doing, but it would be nice to have Dean as a buffer. Dean could be the guy saving lives while Sam does all the actual cool stuff like kill monsters. That’s why he needs him back.

Of course Dean’s being stubborn about it. He’s got a family now, and that’s great for him—it really is—but as is the theme here, Sam does not care at all. If he could _just_ …threaten Dean or hold him hostage or something, that would be fantastic. But that might raise a lot of questions that Sam’s trying to avoid. For now, they’re just going to get through this case. Just one tiny case, and then Dean can go back to his vanilla flavored snore fest of a life. Ugh.

Introducing Dean to the Campbells doesn’t really do much for Sam’s case like he thought it might. Dean’s already met their grandfather, and instead of being ecstatic, Dean is wary. Sam expected that, though. He supposes that if he were capable of caring, he would be a little jarred by the idea that he and their grandfather were brought back to earth for something, some reason—and they don’t know how many other people were brought back, either. But, you know, whatever. Who cares. They have a djinn to kill.

 

* * *

 

When Bobby opens his front door to find Dean with a woman and child standing there, his first instinct is to pretend he doesn’t know who they are and tell them to go home and lock their doors. There’s a reason why Bobby never picks up his phone to call Dean, and it’s right here at his door. Not just in the girl and kid, but in Dean himself. His features have softened, he’s got healthy weight and color in his face like he’s eating proper meals consistently, and the lines and creases have melted away like he’s sleeping every night. Even his clothes have changed to accommodate a more stable lifestyle. He carries himself like a father more than a hunter.

Dean got out, and Bobby would _really_ like to keep it that way.

“Hey, Bobby. This is Lisa and Ben. Do you mind if they stay a couple days?”

He resigns himself to the fact that he can’t say no to this boy. “It’s nice to finally meet you two. Come on in. Mi casa es su casa, and all that.”

Bobby forgets to act surprised when Sam shows up. Even if he _had_ remembered, he’s not sure he could muster up the emotion to act like it’s the first time he’s seen him in a year. Sam’s changed, and it scares the living hell out of him. He gave up trying to figure him out and left him to his own devices months ago.

“You knew. You _knew_ Sam was alive, and you didn’t tell me? How long?”

“All year.” All 11 months of misery.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He knew Dean would be pissed, but there’s nothing he could say to make him feel guilty about this. “And I’d do it again.”

“ _Why?”_

“You got out, Dean! You walked out of the life, and I was so goddamn grateful. You’ve got a family and a normal life, and it’s the closest damn thing to happiness I’ve ever seen a hunter get. If you knew Sam was alive—”

“Are you kidding me? I showed up on their doorstep half out of my head with grief. God knows why they even let me in. I drank too much, had nightmares—I was suicidal.” He turns to Sam. “I looked everywhere. I collected hundreds of books, trying to find _anything_ to bust you out.”

“You were supposed to leave it alone,” Sam says calmly.

“Of course I didn’t leave it alone! Sue me. A fucking _year?_ You couldn’t put me out of my misery?”

“You were out, Dean. And yeah, you say you’ve been miserable but you’ve always been a miserable son of a bitch. What? Drowning yourself in alcohol, having nightmares? Like that’s new. And don’t act like you’re worse off with a woman by your side supporting you. How’d you used to handle your misery, Dean? Oh right, by fucking everything that moves and risking your damn life every day. You were _out.”_

The pause is immeasurable.

“Do I look out to you?”

Dean leaves before Bobby realizes that he just told him he knows he’s queer. Well. Not like that’s relevant right now anyway. Dean probably didn’t even notice.

 

* * *

 

Something’s wrong with Sam. It was obvious from the start, but it really got Dean's attention when he offered the keys to the Impala and Sam refused. Sure, Sam doesn't love the car as much as Dean does, but...Dean knows something's wrong. Not really on top of his priorities list right now though.

Lisa and Ben are not safe. Sam is alive. Their fucking grandfather is alive so who the fuck else could be alive? Bobby knows he bats for both teams, and _Lisa and Ben are not safe._

He should get the fuck out of their lives. Go with Sam and never look back. Somehow ensure that they’re protected from all the shit that could come after Dean and therefore go after them. But that’s…

There was something in Bobby yelling at him that sort of broke him. He doesn’t want to leave his family. Knowing that Sam is alive is awesome, yeah, but he doesn’t really think he should just hop back on the road with him. Lisa said he was amazing with Ben. Dean. Amazing with a kid. A good father figure. _Dean._ With his laundry list full of issues and his lack of _any_ parental figure growing up is suddenly some kind of good father? How the hell is he supposed to walk away from that? That would make him just like his own dad.

So no, he’s not leaving. He’s staying with Lisa and Ben, and he’s going to protect them no matter what and nothing else matters now.

They move to a new house. Dean would like for them to change their names, too, but he knows that’s too much to ask. He’s acting paranoid enough as it is, and their patience can only last so long. He and Lisa are barely even talking to each other, and things are just going to be awkward until everything settles down and goes back to normal. However long that's going to take. Their first night in the new house, Dean sleeps as far away from Lisa on the bed as possible and stares up at the ceiling all night. He's _itching_ for something.

It takes Ben picking up a shotgun in their garage for Dean to lose it. It’s too reminiscent of his own childhood, too close to hearing his dad yelling at him for not doing his target practice at age 9, yelling that his life depends on him learning this shit. Ben’s life can’t be like that. Can’t be thrown away like that. Dean won’t let it happen. So he yells, and Lisa gets pissed, and Ben is scared, and Dean really doesn't belong here at all anymore.

Sam calls about a case.

There’s a voice in the back of Dean’s mind, and he’s been ignoring it for the past few days but—it keeps getting louder.

_Hunting is a part of you, Dean. You will always come back to it, because it’s in your blood._

He might’ve shoved a blade up Zachariah’s face, but the bastard’s still haunting his head.

"I'm just going to go check it out, a couple of days max," he tells Lisa while he packs in the living room.

"Please come back in one piece." Her voice breaks on the last word.

He pulls her in and kisses her for the first time in days. She kisses back like she can hold him there in place forever, and for a second Dean believes she can. They press their foreheads together when they're done, and Dean doesn't say any of the dozens of things running through his brain.

 

It doesn’t seem earth-shattering when Dean shows up to find a baby in the backseat of Sam’s car, but he understands why he called. Neither one of them is very qualified to take care of a small child, but maybe together they can keep the thing alive. It’s not like Dean’s completely inexperienced with kids, especially now. Not to mention he practically raised Sammy so yeah, he can do this.

It’s still weird when Sam compliments him on not being half bad at the whole “dad” thing. Instead of feeling a sense of pride about it, it just leaves Dean with a bad taste in his mouth. He tries to make himself feel better by saying he’s had to step into a father role with Ben and that he’s trying to do things differently than how they were raised, but Sam’s not buying it.

“Moving them around, keeping them on lockdown—how is that any different from how we were raised?”

“I’m not shoving anybody into this life. This is temporary.”

“Dad always said it was temporary, Dean. Said it for 22 years. Look, I get it. You want to watch out for them—that’s great. I’m just asking, how do you do that and not turn into Dad?”

It’s not like Dean hasn’t thought about it himself. But hearing it from his little brother, even if there is something off about him right now, makes it that much more difficult to cope with.

He doesn’t want to leave Lisa and Ben, but he doesn’t know if staying is the better option. There’s been so much about the past year that’s _good._ And now that he knows that Sam was alive and not suffering, he can think back on the good and not feel guilty about it. Those are memories he’d like to cherish for the rest of his life, but really, he’d like it better if the three of them got to make some more.

But when he comes back home, it just feels—it feels off. Even more so than before.

“What?”

“I don’t know what to do here, Lis. I mean, if I knew for sure what the safest thing was, I’d do it. Stay here and look after you guys, or get as far away as I possibly can. I don’t know. And I get what I’ve been doing lately, with the yelling and the…acting like a, like a prison guard. It’s just, that’s not me. You tell yourself you’re not going to be something, you know, and my dad was exactly like this. All the time. It’s scaring the hell out of me.”

“Dean. Can I be honest? It might be safer with you here. Maybe gone. I don’t know. The one thing that I do know is that you’re not a construction worker. You’re a hunter. And now you know your brother’s out there, things are different. You don’t want to be here, Dean.”

“Yes I do.” Dean doesn’t deserve this woman.

“OK. OK, but you also want to be there, and I get it. You’re white knuckling it, living like this. Like what you are is some bad awful thing, but you’re not. But I’m not going to have this discussion every time you leave. This is just going to keep happening, so…I need you to go.”

They can make it work. They can try. It could work. He really doesn't deserve for it to work.

 

* * *

 

“You’re not really _that_ naïve, are you? Or is it arrogance?”

“I wouldn’t presume to think that—”

“Castiel, I don’t have time for this.” Raphael fans his back wings. “You have severely overestimated your importance. I don’t care if God brings you back a hundred more times—you are still just a _cherub_ in love with filthy humans and prone to rebel for the first one who bats its eyelashes at you. You will not win this war.”

It’s not like he even came here for this conversation. He didn’t come to see Raphael and his stupid six heads at all. In fact, he was simply returning to heaven to feel closer to his Father. The revelation is—well, it’s clearer here, but God still feels absent. Castiel can feel the effects of his creation but the Creator is nowhere to be found. Truthfully, he would rather be on earth looking after Dean. It wasn’t his intention to leave the man permanently, but then—

He thought if he brought Sam back…he’s not sure what he thought would happen, actually. It just didn’t seem right to leave Sam down there in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. He told Lucifer he wouldn’t get a hand on Sam Winchester, and he _fucking_ meant it. Of course, Sam might have been better off in the cage, once Castiel realized what exactly he brought back. Or what he failed to bring back.

When Sam went to Dean and stood outside of his new home, Castiel waited. He waited to see if the Winchesters would reunite and pick up where they left off. If they had, he would’ve gone with them no questions asked. Perhaps Raphael is right about him.

Sam Winchester did not tell Dean that he was alive. Castiel returned to heaven. He has ignored every single one of their prayers since then.

Sam, being that he is missing a vital piece of himself, has only prayed for help when he is stuck on a case. There is no emotion behind his words, just business.

Dean, on the other hand.

_Cas? Buddy, can you hear me? I—I just wanted to—never mind._

_I probably shouldn’t be talking to you. I mean, you’re probably up there ruling heaven or whatever. Why should you give a shit about me, right? Um. I was just, uh, wondering how you’re doing. Or whatever. OK._

_Cas? I miss you, man._

_I’m sorry. You know, about…actually, I don’t know. I just feel like I’m supposed to be sorry about something. I feel like you left mad at me. So whatever it is, I’m sorry._

They were all within the first month of Dean living with the Braedens, and they all occurred while Dean was intoxicated.

There’s a civil war in heaven, and Castiel misses Dean Winchester.

_Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here._

It’s the first time Castiel has heard Dean’s voice in 10 months. He knows Dean is with his brother, because the inflection in his voice is different than it would be if he were alone. Less genuine, more snarky.

_C’mon, Cas. Don’t be a dick. We’ve got ourselves a plague-like situation down here. Do you—do you copy?_

Plague-like is actually very serious. And Cas would really like to see the Winchesters together again. Oh, what the hell.

“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” Sam asks.

“Hello,” Cas says to the younger Winchester. It’s good to see him, even if he isn’t really himself.

_“Hello?”_

“Yes…?”

“’Hello.’ Hello?”

“Uh…That is still the term.”

“I spent all that time trying to get through to you. Dean calls once, and now it’s ‘hello.’”

Cas and Dean share a knowing look. Dean didn’t just call once. But Sam doesn’t need to know that. “Yes.”

“So, what? You like him better or something?”

Well, shit. He can’t really lie. Not in front of Dean. “Dean and I do share a more profound bond.” All right, perhaps lying would have been better. “I wasn’t going to mention it,” he says to Dean as if that’ll fix things.

“Cas, I think what he’s trying to say is that he went to hell for us. I mean, he really took one for the team, you remember that? And then he comes back without a clue, and you can’t take five fucking minutes to give him some answers?”

Dean doesn’t have to say it for Cas to know he’s talking about himself, too. He shouldn’t have flown off so fast. Maybe coming down here wasn’t such a good idea after all.

He decides to lie. It’s the first time he’s actively chosen that route with the Winchesters, and it leaves him with a sour taste in his vessel’s mouth. How much further will he fall?

 

His brother Balthazar is alive. Alive and not—not exactly how he remembered him. It could just be his vessel that’s different, but probably not.

“You were a great and honorable soldier. We fought together,” Cas tries.

“Too many times to count.”

“I know you. You’re not some common thief.”

“Common? No. Thief? Eh. Look around you, Cassie. Nobody has any idea what they’re meant to be doing. I’m in the body of some comatose father of four, for God’s sake. I've only got two eyes and one head, and this thing between my legs apparently defines who I am as a 'person.' I haven’t seen my tentacles in _ages.”_

He really doesn’t have time for this existential crisis. “What is your point?”

“My point is that we’re not _made_ for this, Castiel. You were the only one who ever gave two shits about humans in the first place, well, save Anna of course. But look how she turned out—wanted to be a human so bad and then ended up in the completely wrong body. Had to change nearly everything to feel comfortable. And the life expectancy for someone like her, I mean...It’s miserable down here, and you know what?”

“What?”

Balthazar leans in close so he can whisper right in Cas’ ear. “I fucking love it. The freedom of it. I can do whatever I want, and it’s all thanks to you.” He steps back a pace. “You did more than just rebel. You tore up the whole script and burned the pages for all of us.” Balthazar laughs and shakes his head. “I mean, who knew? Being human is _incredible.”_

“That’s not why I—”

“I know, I know. It wasn’t your intention when you decided all the little angels should get a taste of free will. But here we are. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d really like to not be here when Raphael shows up.”

Balthazar disappears before Castiel even processes what he said.

He returns later to turn Raphael into a pillar of salt.

Castiel leaves the Winchesters.

 

* * *

 

“You’re pretty.”

“Sorry?”

“I said, you’re pretty.”

“Sorry again, pal. You’re not my type.”

OK, so vampires are really shitty. Dean would prefer Gordon over this douche canoe with his greasy hair and gross sexual advances. God, what he would give to be back home with Lisa right now where sex is safe and fun.

Dean swears he sees Sammy show up but he just sort of stands there and watches as his brother gets vamp blood smeared all over his mouth. Cool, Sammy. Really cool.

Everything gets really weird really fast. Heartbeats are like, fucking everywhere. Everybody smells like iron, and it’s fucking intoxicating. Then his vision goes blurry and kind of hyper focused on one thing at a time like his brain’s blocking out everything that’s not prey. Well this is just fantastic.

It doesn’t really feel like he’s moving any faster but all of a sudden Dean’s standing in his bedroom. Lisa’s bedroom. Whatever.

Wait, why the hell did he come _here?_ Jesus Christ, he’s a monster thirsty for blood and he decided to go visit his _family?_ Why the fuck?

He’s really strong, too. He barely even touches Ben to get him out of his way, and the kid slams into a wall. Oh god. This is so bad. If everything would just _shut up_ and quit being so bright, he could think straight for five seconds and realize that he’s destroying everything right now. Everything he’s built in the past year.

He gets back to Sam even faster than he left, and now their grandfather’s here, too. Or at least he thinks he is. There are definitely two distinct heartbeats in the room. It’s so fucking hard to focus.

Something about a cure—there’s a cure? And Dean’s supposed to—he’s got to—

Next thing he knows he’s in a lair. A vampire lair. It’s better in here. The smell of iron is stale. No heartbeats. Finally some peace.

Except greasy dude’s back, and he keeps _hitting_ on Dean like he’s some sort of pet. Dean tries to stay calm. Tries to think about Lisa, and all the things she helped him with in the past year.

_What people did to you, Dean, it’s not your fault. Here and in hell. They can’t break you. You’re stronger than that._

Dean chops off the head of every last piece of shit in the place.

 

One of the worst things about hell was the silence.

There were days, or maybe months—it’s hard to tell—where some low-level demons would strap Dean to a wall, shove a vibrator up his ass and put some kind of heavy duty cock ring on him. Then they’d pump him full of whatever-the-fuck drug, which pushed him into some sort of animalistic need to breed. They would leave him there, writhing and crying and refusing to beg to come but wanting nothing more than to do so.

But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was when his body would just sort of give up and go limp. Impotent. Numb. It was then that Dean realized how completely alone he was. There were no screams on the other side of the walls, he couldn’t see two feet in front of him, he could barely even hear his own pulse. And they would leave him like that. Totally devoid of every single one of his senses.

The torture he could handle, but the silence was excruciating.

 

“You went to hell, man. You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon. I know what it’s like. I know what it does to a guy.”

“You know what it does to _you.”_

“Excuse me?”

Sam sighs loudly. “I’m fine, Dean. Hell affects everybody differently, and for you it was…”

“You saying you’re stronger than me?”

“No. Of course not. I’m just saying—it’s different. It tortured you—hell, it still does—but I’m fine. I’m handling it.”

No. This is definitely not his brother. One _minute_ in hell is worth a lifetime of anguish. There is no possible way Sam is acting this nonchalant about it, like it was a walk on the beach. This man is not his brother.

 

There’s a case in Illinois, but Dean’s distracted. Bobby tells him to treat Sam like a case, but that’s going to be difficult seeing as they’ve got shit to do and Sam’s acting like nothing’s wrong.

To top it all off, Dean ends up cursed. He’s not entirely sure what he did wrong, but suddenly everybody in the town starts saying random shit to him. It seems like they’re incapable of lying to him, so to test his theory he calls Bobby.

“Hey, anything you’re itching to tell me?”

“Not really. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Nah, it’s OK.”

“Well, I’m here hitting the books while drinking a nice glass of milk and watching _Tori and Dean.”_

“Wait—who and Dean?”

“Tori Spelling. I’m a huge fan. Girl’s a real talent.”

All right, so it does work over the phone.

“You know what else? I get a pedicure once in a while. This nice Vietnamese girl, she—”

“Please stop.”

He doesn’t stop. “I never told anyone that. Why am I telling you? Maybe ‘cause you’re my favorite. Although, Sam’s a better hunter. Lately, anyway. Whoa, why the hell am I telling you this?”

Bobby's favorite? Huh. That's nice to hear. “Because I’m cursed.”

“Cursed? How is it that half the time you clean a mess, you end up dirty?”

Dean gets an idea. “Actually this might be the best thing that’s happened to me in a while. I got to go.”

“Wait, did you know that my first girlfriend turned out to be a—”

“Whoa, hey, Bobby, uh—”

“Now hold on a second. I just wanted to tell you I’ve known you were queer since you were a kid, boy. And I ain’t got a problem with it, you hear? It would’ve been nice of you to come out to me yourself, but I’d probably be waiting in the grave for that to happen, you stubborn idjit. Shit, why am I saying this _now?”_

“It’s—it’s OK, Bobby. Thanks. That really, uh, it means a lot to me.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not a big deal. Everybody’s sucked a dick or two in their—”

Dean hangs up before he has to hear the rest of that sentence.

The only good thing about this truth serum crap is that Dean can finally get Sam to be honest with him. Except Sam doesn’t answer his phone.

And Lisa calls him back. Great timing.

“You’ve got so much buried in there. And you push it down, and you push it down. Do you honestly think you can go through life like that and not freak out? Just, what? Drink half a fifth a night and you’re good?”

“Hey, you knew what you signed up for.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect Sam to come back. And I’m glad he’s OK, I am. But the minute he walked through that door, I knew it was over. You two have the most unhealthy, tangled up, crazy thing I’ve ever seen, and as long as he’s in your life you’re never going to be happy.”

“OK, Lis, me and Sam—we’ve got issues. But you and Ben—”

“Me and Ben can’t be in this with you. I’m sorry.”

Dean hasn’t been broken up with since Cassie Robinson. It’s worse than he remembers.

He can’t really think about that right now, though. Sam’s not himself and this is Dean’s only shot of figuring it out. He asks him what happened with the vampire, and he knows, he _knows_ what Sam’s going to say. That he purposely let Dean get turned because he wanted a close-up look at the nest. Wanted to know what the vampires were up to.

Sam tells him he froze.

 

* * *

 

Some goddess of truth named Veritas or something has them tied up, and Sam doesn’t feel a damn thing. He doesn’t have to tell the truth to this lady. He doesn’t have to tell the truth to anybody.

On a conscious level, Sam knows something is wrong with him. Severely wrong with him. But on an emotional level? He doesn’t have an emotional level. He doesn’t give a shit about anything. So when Dean starts telling Veritas that he was thinking about killing Sam in his sleep because he thinks he’s a monster, Sam doesn’t even have it in him to act like he cares. He was never really a good actor anyway, so it’s no surprise that Dean was suspicious of him from the start. Oh well. If his brother kills him, whatever.

One interesting thing Dean says is that Sam is acting like _him._ Yeah, right. Like Dean’s ever not cared about every little thing. As if Dean’s just some mindless killing machine looking for the next hunt. _Sure,_ Dean.

“I ain’t a father. I’m a killer. I know that now,” Dean says to the goddess.

If Sam had a heart, he would shout at Dean that he disagrees. He _does_ disagree, but again, there’s no emotion behind it. He’s not going to interrupt Veritas to reassure his brother that he’s a good man. It doesn’t matter one way or another to him whether Dean knows that or not.

When Veritas turns on him, it gets a little trickier. She knows he’s lying immediately, and it’s kind of a mess. God, what a fucking nightmare. This whole faking like he cares thing is _exhausting._

It doesn’t even bother him when Dean beats the shit out of him. Yeah, physical pain is still a thing, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He passes out without a care in the world. At least Veritas is dead.

 

* * *

 

According to Cas, Sam is missing his soul.

Fantastic.

Their grandfather has been working for Crowley. Which means they’ve been working for Crowley.

Even more fantastic.

Icing on the cake: Crowley’s the only one who knows how to get Sam’s soul back, which means they have to keep working for him.

Well. It’s not like it’s the worst thing they’ve ever been through.

 

* * *

 

Dean being abducted by aliens would have been really weird if he hadn’t come back and immediately been assaulted with the even weirder sight of his soulless brother in bed.

With a dude.

He forgets to even be mad that Sam didn’t come looking for him when he disappeared.

_Sam likes dudes?_

Sam likes dudes. _  
_

What the actual fuck.

“Dude.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Dude.”_

 _“What,_ Dean?”

“You know that’s a dude, right?"

Sam looks at the guy, and the guy runs to the bathroom. Sam looks back at Dean. “Um. Yeah.”

Dean stares at Sam for a long time. “There something you want to tell me, Sam?”

Sam shrugs.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“What do you want me to say, Dean?”

_“I want you to fucking explain to me why you were just sleeping with a dude!”_

Sam sighs. Then he laughs.

“What the hell, man?”

“Nothing, I just—I’m going to be so pissed at myself when I get my soul back. I mean, soul or not, I don’t really give a fuck about gender all that much. If my dick likes it, then hey, what the hell? Might as well give it a shot, right?”

Dean could kill him. He could kill him and hide the body. Instead, he turns and leaves.

 

* * *

 

The Winchesters do not understand that Castiel’s sole purpose in life is _not_ to serve them and fix their petty issues.

Unfortunately for Castiel, he’s having a hard time remembering that these days lately, too.

Which is why he finds himself in the Winchesters’ motel room watching pornography on a Thursday night. He gets an erection for the first time, which is…weird. Definitely weird that it hasn’t happened before now. That’s something he’ll need to figure out later.

For now, he’s feeling ambivalent about their current mission. He doesn’t believe retrieving Sam’s soul is the best course of action, and the worst part is that he knows all of this is his fault and he can’t tell Sam and Dean that.

Lying is hard.

But if Cas can pull this off, then the Winchesters will think that Crowley is dead and will back off. Cas just has to play along.

“Playing along” apparently includes kissing Meg. It's nice. Different. _Definitely_ different. He doesn’t get an erection, which is probably for the best. Meg, however, seems…affected. Perhaps that’s something he can explore further at a later date. All things permitting.

His and Crowley’s plan works, and Sam and Dean are fooled. There is only the matter of Sam Winchester’s soul to worry about.

 

* * *

 

Desperate times blah blah blah.

Sam is a fucking idiot, and Dean is going to get his soul back even if it kills him. Well, technically it does kill him. He dies for seven minutes so he can go into the spirit world or whatever the fuck in order to talk to Death. Of course nothing is simple, and before he knows it Dean is agreeing to put on Death’s ring and play him for a day.

It doesn’t go well.

Tessa sticks with him, which is comforting, and the first couple of people he kills are actually pretty easy. But then everything goes really wrong really fast, and Dean fucks up destiny (as usual) and he’s going to lose this bet and never see the real Sam again.

He loses the bet. Death retrieves Sam’s soul from hell anyway. He puts up a wall in Sam’s brain so he doesn’t go insane, and Dean prays that it works. Like, genuinely prays to anybody who might be listening.

 

* * *

 

“Still asleep?”

Dean nods.

“He’ll wake up.”

“Yeah.”

“Dean. He’s been through how much? Somehow he always bounces back.”

“He’s never been through this.”

They drink their whiskey in silence until they both need refills. Then Bobby starts again, “Listen, Dean, I’m sorry you didn’t get to come out to me on your own terms.”

Dean laughs and throws back his glass. “Honestly, I had completely forgotten. We’ve got so much shit going on right now.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still important. Just need you to know I love and support you, all right? Always have.”

“I know, Bobby. Thanks.”

They stay quiet for a few more minutes, and then Dean asks, “How’d you know anyway?”

“Hell, you played with Barbies and made the Ken dolls kiss each other. And then they’d kiss Barbie. And then the Barbies would kiss each other. You were all over the place, son.”

“Yeah, that sounds like me.” Truthfully, Dean doesn’t remember that. He doesn’t remember much about his childhood that doesn’t involve shooting a gun or taking care of Sammy.

“I wasn’t sure what it meant until your daddy called me out of the blue asking me if I knew anything about bisexuality. It wasn’t really a well known term back then—well, still really isn’t. But it made sense.”

“God, my dad must’ve been worried about me,” Dean says mostly to himself.

“Your dad was an idiot. Thought there was something wrong with you.”

“Isn’t there?”

“Dean, if _you_ want to be an idiot, do it somewhere else. Not in my house.”

That was the end of that conversation.

Sam wakes up. He doesn’t remember anything. Dean does nothing but lie for the next hour.

 

* * *

 

Something’s wrong. There’s something Bobby and Dean aren’t telling him.

Sam manipulates Cas into talking. He finds out he was soulless for a year.

He’s not exactly sure what that entails, but he’s pretty positive it doesn’t mean anything good.

Who knows what a guy without a soul is capable of.

It’s not even a week before Sam has “scratched the wall” and is assaulted with a memory of hell.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The French Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most embarrassing thing I've probably ever written. 
> 
> [Article cited](http://mic.com/articles/69757/supernatural-needs-to-admit-dean-is-bisexual)
> 
> Warning for Cockles. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Dean is going to kill Balthazar himself whenever they find their way out of this hellhole of a fucked up universe.

“Should we be killing anybody?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s a wrap on Jared and Jensen!”

“Who the hell are—”

“Jared! There you are."

“Where are we going?”

“Jensen, we need to do some touch-up.”

Wait a second, did he accidentally put on make-up this morning? No. That was one time, and he decided never to do it again. It made his skin break out anyway. Wait, so why—

“It’s a TV show.”

“You think?”

“Well, I mean, here. Wherever here is. This Twilight Zone Balthazar zapped us into—for whatever reason, our life is a TV show.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“No seriously, why? Why would anybody want to watch our lives?”

“Well, according to the interviewer not very many people do.”

This is insane. Dean wants out of here like five minutes ago. He nearly pukes when he sees the line of Impalas in various states of disarray. That’s worse than the make-up.

Fortunately, it looks like Cas exists in this universe. He tells them the key Balthazar gave them unlocks a door to a room full of the weapons Balthazar stole from heaven. If they can get to the room, Cas can use the weapons in his fight with heaven.

Cas loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt. His voice pitches up two octaves, and he pulls out papers from his coat.

This…isn’t Cas.

“This is a script. He’s reciting words in a script.” Dean hits the paper like it’s capable of feeling pain. “His name’s Misha. _Misha?”_

“That’s me,” the not-Cas says with a wink at Dean. It…doesn’t seem all that innocent.

They high tail it out of there before this Misha guy fucks up their vision of Cas anymore than he already has.

There’s a trailer with fake Dean’s name on it, and the door’s unlocked.

“Dude, I have a helicopter.”

“Who puts a 300-gallon aquarium in their trailer?”

“Apparently Jensen Ackles.”

Sam goes to the computer to try to find information on who exactly they are in this universe while Dean investigates crap lying around the trailer.

“Dude, listen to this. I found an article called ‘ _Supernatural’ Needs to Admit Dean is Bisexual.”_

Dean drops the magazine he was holding and goes to look at the computer screen. “Excuse me?”

‘“Queer people deserve to see representations of themselves on TV. Dean Winchester, a masculine guy in his 30s who loves whiskey, classic rock, and his '67 Chevy Impala; who was raised by an abusive father; who has been hunting since he could hold a shotgun; and who is a lead character on an urban fantasy drama popular with a male audience would be such an important and ground-breaking representation of bisexuality on TV. But will Dean _ever_ come out?’ Dude, apparently you’re in the closet on this show.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He tilts the screen and mumbles, “Dad’s not abusive.”

Sam pointedly does not respond to that. “Apparently you and Cas have a lot of, um, unresolved sexual tension.”

 _“What?_ Give me that.”

Sam’s laughing so hard he’s nearly crying.

“Listen to this crap: ‘Speculation about Dean's sexuality has been growing since season four, when the angel Castiel was introduced.’ What the hell’s that supposed to mean? My sexuality didn’t exist before then?”

“Apparently this universe isn’t very progressive.” Sam turns the laptop back to him and keeps typing. “Oh god.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“You were on a soap opera.”

“Wait, seriously? Let me see.” Dean watches the YouTube clip of a much younger version of himself and cringes. “Are you kidding me? It’s not even a _good_ soap opera.”

“Really? That’s your problem with this?”

“I don’t like this universe, Sammy. We need to get out of this universe.”

It’s not so simple. They know exactly how to reverse Balthazar’s spell, but every single godforsaken thing in this place is a prop. All of the blades are either a trick or completely dull (or both), and one of the crew members runs over to them while they’re rummaging through stuff and yanks the knives right out of their hands.

“I’m sorry, you’re not supposed to touch those. You guys know the rules—this stuff is dangerous without a props supervisor here.”

In shock, they hand over the fake weapons and nod stupidly when the girl pats their shoulders and disappears.

“Dude, I think Jared and Jensen are a couple of bumbling idiots,” Dean whispers.

“Well, they’re _actors_. They get paid to look pretty, not be smart.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Dean bats his eyelashes. “I’m flattered.”

Sam rolls his eyes and pushes Dean out of the set. “Shut up. We need to get out of here.”

They climb into the first Impala they see and are immediately stopped by a scared crew member telling them they can’t drive the prop cars. Jesus, is there _anything_ they’re allowed to do?

Fifteen minutes later they find themselves in the backseat of an Escalade being asked by the driver, Clif, where they want to go. They say Jared’s house and hope to God they don’t find anything traumatizing there. Hey, maybe God’s not a huge bag of dicks in this universe.

Jared Padalecki lives in a fucking pimped-out mansion like some sort of rich asshole. They haven’t even been there for five minutes before a chick appears at the top of the stairs and—

The chick is Ruby. So Ruby is apparently alive in this universe. Fan-fucking-tastic.

It gets even better when she comes down the stairs and kisses Sam right on the mouth.

“You and _Ruby?”_

“Do you honestly think that’s funny, Jensen?”

“Right—right, because you’re not…Ruby. I mean, how could you be? You—of course, you are the lovely actress who _plays_ Ruby. And you are in Jared’s house because you two are…” A photo captures Dean’s eye. A fucking wedding photo. “Married. You _married_ fake Ruby?”

This is a fucking nightmare. Sure, Dean always dreamed that his little brother would have a normal life and get married to a hot chick one day and have a good stable life with her, but not like this. Never like this. He wants to bleach out that wedding photo of fake Ruby and fake Sammy from his memory.

After she leaves to go to some super important charity convention thing for otters or some shit, Dean says, “Well, it looks like you did well for yourself.”

“Yeah,” Sam responds with a laugh. “I should figure out her name.”

“I wonder if fake me is married to a hot chick,” Dean mumbles to himself as they go to search for a computer.

“Or dude.”

“Yeah, right. Like you said, this universe isn’t very ‘progressive.’”

“Hey, at least technology’s still the same.”

They walk into an office of sorts and find a desktop and laptop pretty easily. They’re not even password protected. And it takes them all of five seconds to find a stack of credit cards to buy the shit they need to work the spell to get back to their own universe. Seems like this Jared guy doesn’t really worry too much about people breaking in or anything.

After they’ve figured everything out, Dean decides to take a nap on the extremely comfortable couch. He hasn’t even been asleep for half an hour before Sam’s waking him up and saying, “You should probably get out of here.”

“What? Why?”

“Dude, fake Ruby is going to come back any second now and she’s going to wonder why the fuck you’re still here. Apparently you and I don’t really hang out or even talk that much in this universe, and we really don’t want to make people too suspicious.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right. But where am I supposed to go? I have no idea—”

“I asked Clif for his phone number, said I lost my contacts. Here.”

“Sammy, you’re a genius.”

Clif shows up in 20 minutes, which is good timing because Dean gets a text from Sam when they’re barely out on the highway saying that fake Ruby just got home.

 _Dude, I think fake Ruby wants to have sex with me,_ Sam texts him out of the blue.

_What? Are you serious?_

_She keeps making suggestive comments, and she’s been in the bathroom for like a really long time. What do I do?_

_I mean, do what you gotta do I guess?_

_I can’t just sleep with another dude’s wife!_

_OK, good point. Are you in bed? Fake like you’re asleep._

_Really? You think that’ll work?_

_Uh…it always worked with Lisa._

_Seriously, Dean? You faked sleep to get out of having sex with Lisa?_

_She could be exhausting! You don’t know what it was like, dude. I nearly threw my back out one time._

_We’re not having this conversation. Tell Clif to pick us both up in the morning._

Jensen’s house is a little less…pompous. It’s still way bigger than anybody could ever need, but it’s not as douchey as the guy’s trailer. It’s actually nice on the outside, kind of rustic with a more modern roof. The inside looks well lived in, with older furniture, bookshelves and not nearly as neat as Jared’s house. It's strangely homey, and Dean feels a ping of jealousy that his alternate self even _has_ a house. After he shuts the front door, Dean thinks about announcing that he’s home to see if anybody comes to greet him, but he foregoes that plan in order to snoop around. It doesn’t take him long at all to find pictures of _his_ wedding, and yeah, he definitely married a hot chick, too. Hell yeah.

“Seriously, dude? You combed over your hair on your wedding day? Come _on.”_

“Honey? What are you doing?”

Dean drops the picture back on the bookshelf and turns to see the woman from the photos standing in the doorway rubbing sleep from her eyes. She’s wearing a big t-shirt and flannel pajama pants, and Dean thinks it’s adorable. Lisa always wore virtually nothing to bed, and Dean used to worry sick about her getting cold at night.

“Hey! Um—hey, Dan—Danneel. I, uh, I was just, you know, looking through pictures and stuff. Did I—did I wake you up?”

“No, I was waiting on you to get home. Where’ve you been?”

“I was actually at Sa—Jared’s house—we were running some lines and stuff.”

“Oh, that’s good. You two getting along?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re doing fine.”

She yawns and smiles at him, still standing in the doorway.

“Why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll be up there soon, all right?”

“OK, sounds good. Don’t stay up too late, sweetie.”

“Yeah, I—I won’t.”

He needs to get out of this universe. That woman is too cute and too nice to him and all of this is very domestic and very much a utopian version of what he had with Lisa and it’s all just way too much.

His phone buzzes.

_It worked. She’s asleep._

Dean rolls his eyes and shoves his phone back in his pocket. It buzzes again two seconds later.

_She smells nice._

Ugh, gross. It’s still _Ruby._

Dean knows he needs to go to sleep soon, but he can’t help sneaking around a bit more to try to learn more information on Jensen’s life. Most of the pictures he finds shoved into bookshelves and hanging up around the den and living room are of him and Danneel, but there are a few others of their friends. They seem to have a lot of good people in their lives, and Dean can’t help but wish he knew more about the faces in the photos. Having friends would be cool.

Once he’s exhausted everything in the main part of the house, he goes to the kitchen. Hell, he could go for a midnight snack actually. It takes him just two tries rummaging through cabinets to find the food, and Jesus Christ what the fuck.

Apparently Jensen Ackles eats healthy crap that Dean’s never even heard of. God, even when Lisa stocked the fridge with a bunch of vegetables and told Dean and Ben that they had to eat at least one green thing a day, it wasn’t _this_ bad. This is just downright obscene. There aren’t even any chips or anything, and the only thing that remotely looks like a snack is _raw_ almonds. _Raw_ almonds? Why the fuck.

His appetite gone, Dean decides it’s time to head upstairs to his fake wife. However, an envelope on the counter catches his eye, so he retraces his steps and opens it.

A bunch of photos fall out. It looks like they were all taken recently at some event or something. Actually, the more he flips through them the more he’s beginning to believe that Jensen was probably drunk at whatever party this was.

Danneel’s there in most of the photos, and some people from the pictures in the living room, but Jared and fake Ruby are nowhere to be found. Fake Castiel and who Dean presumes is his wife are in the photos, too. It’s weird. Cas is all relaxed and human and has a gigantic smile on his face. He and Jensen lean into each other and hug each other’s wives like they’re old pals, and it all just seems a little suspicious. Or maybe Dean’s just jealous. Fake Cas is really hot.

Dean gasps and nearly drops the stack of photos when he flips past one of Jensen with his arm flung across fake Cas’ shoulder and is assaulted with a close-up of Jensen and fake Cas kissing squarely on the mouth. Their wives are in the background laughing.

What the fuck.

None of the rest of the photos are as shocking, and as soon as Dean makes it back to the start he sets them down and pretty much runs up the stairs to get to bed. Danneel luckily left a light on, so it’s not too difficult to find some pajamas to change into and crawl into bed next to her.

“You OK?” she asks sleepily as she scoots up behind him and scratches his back. It feels incredible.

“Mm-hmm. Hey, um, I saw those pictures in the kitchen. The ones of the—the party.”

“Oh, yeah, I got those developed today. Can you believe how drunk we were?”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Yeah, honestly I don’t remember when half of those were taken.”

“You better hope those never make it to the Internet. People would have a fit over you and Misha.”

“Misha? Oh—Misha. Um, yeah, how embarrassing.”

Danneel tugs his ear before scooting closer behind him and wrapping her arm around his waist. (Apparently Jensen Ackles is as simultaneously pampered and whipped as Dean is.) “Yeah, right, like you didn’t enjoy it.”

Dean can’t really argue with that, so he just shrugs and shuts his eyes to go to sleep.

He dreams about Lisa. And Cas. It’s weird.

Not unpleasant, though.

The alarm goes off way too damn early in the morning, and Danneel barely wakes up enough to kiss him goodbye before he’s out the door.

Damn, if circumstances were different and that wasn’t another man’s wife…shit, she was cool. Dean wonders if he’ll ever meet _her_ in his own universe.

They spend all morning acting. It’s honestly probably the worst day of Dean’s life. And that includes the 40 years he was in hell.

Sam gets dragged off to wardrobe at one point, and Dean’s left alone with fake Cas—Misha, whatever.

“Hey, you doing all right?” the guy asks, and Dean actually can’t believe that not-gravel voice is coming out of Cas’ mouth.

“Hmm? Yeah, um, fine. Just, uh, distracted is all.”

Misha leans forward so his face is right behind Dean’s shoulder. “Well, if you need to blow off some steam or something, I’ll be in my trailer at lunch.”

That…was definitely a seduction.

No time to dwell on it though, because Sam gets back and break is called (how often do these jokers get unnecessary breaks?), so they try to cast the spell to get back to their own world.

It doesn’t work.

Sam supposes this universe is devoid of anything supernatural, and therefore anything they do to try to return to their world will fail.

If and when Dean ever sees Balthazar again, he’s going to kill him.

At lunch, Dean makes up some bullshit excuse to Sam so they can split up. It’s not that Dean’s going to go to hot Cas’ trailer and have sex with him or anything. As tempting as that is, he just wants to…He’s just curious is all. No harm in checking things out. And hey, maybe the guy will have some helpful information or something?

Dean probably looks incredibly suspicious as he walks toward the trailer that says “M. Collins” and constantly checks over his shoulder to make sure nobody is watching him. He knocks when he gets to the dude’s trailer, and he really hopes this is the right one.

Sure enough, Misha opens the door and greets him with a huge smile and a gesture to come in. All he’s wearing is Cas’ pants and a wife beater. Huh. Dean didn’t know Cas wore an undershirt. It’s also the first time he’s really seen his arms, and he has the sudden urge to touch them. They look smooth.

“You want to talk about what’s going on with you?” Misha asks as he sits and opens a take-out box of salad.

Dean sits tentatively on the small couch across from where Misha’s sitting. “Uh, not really. I just haven’t been feeling like myself lately.”

“Yeah, are you doing some sort of method thing? You’re talking like Dean.”

Oh, shit. He forgot he’s supposed to be pretending to be some dude he’s never met before. Danneel didn’t say anything about it, though, so this Jensen guy can’t be too different. Dean clears his throat. “No, uh, I just—you know, habit or whatever.”

Misha laughs. “Yeah, OK. You only complain about hurting your voice like six times a week. Are you hungry, by the way? They have kale today.”

“They have what?”

Misha’s eyebrows knit together, and that’s the first thing he’s done that’s looked like Cas. Then, without saying a word he sets his food down and walks over to Dean and sits on the coffee table across from him so their knees are knocking.

“Um,” Dean starts.

The guy places his hands on Dean’s thighs and starts a rhythmic motion up and down. Dean has to close his eyes and swallow a moan. “We’ve got an hour. You want me to…?” He pauses his hands dangerously close to Dean’s crotch.

“Uh, um, I—”

Misha laughs and leans forward for a kiss. God, how many times is Dean going to have to kiss versions of Cas that aren’t _his?_ Not that he’s complaining…

“You don’t have to be shy with me, Jensen. Just tell me what you want.”

This is too damn much. Dean shuts his eyes and reaches behind the guy’s neck to pull him back in for another kiss. This time, they keep kissing until Misha climbs into Dean’s lap, and then he’s pushing Dean back onto the couch and working his hand down the back of Dean’s jeans and—

Dean pushes both his hands into not-Cas’ chest to get him to stop. “I’m sorry.”

“You sure you’re OK?”

“I’m, uh, I should go.” Dean scrambles to get out from underneath Misha, and he readjusts himself as he gets off the couch. “You know, uh, it’s just—we’re married and this is weird.”

Not the right thing to say. Misha looks incredibly confused. “Jensen, you’ve had a threesome with me and my wife. Danneel sucked me off like a week ago. What’s going on?”

OK, maybe this universe isn’t as unprogressive as they originally thought. "What?"

"What?" Misha stalks into his personal space and smiles _mischievously._ "You're acting strange today. Seriously, what is it? You can tell me."

"I'm, uh, I'm..."

Misha runs his hands down Dean's arms and settles them on his hips. God, what is it with this guy and his fucking hands. Dean closes his eyes and hums, and then suddenly there's a hand reaching toward his—

"Dean! I'm—I'm Dean! Not Jensen, not..." Dean blurts out.

Misha's mouth falls open and he squints, but it's different than how Cas squints. "Is this like earlier? Are we roleplaying now?" He drops his chin and asks in a deep voice, "Should I talk like this?"

_"What?"_

"I'll get my coat on," he says, still in Cas' voice, and then he moves to the other side of the room to grab his... _costume._

"Uh, Misha, it's..."

When Misha turns around in his trench coat, tie still in his hands, Dean really doesn't know what to do. He looks so much like Cas it's just—

"Look, man, I don't know what's going on," Dean starts, but it's hard to focus when Cas—Misha is coming toward him all seductively, "but, uh, I really am _Dean._ I was just, like, beamed into this universe or some—"

"It was Balthazar, wasn't it? We needed to get you out to keep you unaware of our plans." Misha knits his eyebrows all serious like Cas, and he strokes Dean's face with his knuckles.

"No, dude, _really._ Please, I can't..."

The guy slots his leg between Dean's and rolls his hips a little so that Dean knows exactly what's going on in his pants. "It's all right, _Dean_. Let me take care of you."

Jesus Christ. Dean can't help himself. He thrusts his hips in response and latches one hand onto Misha's shoulder, the other on his ass. "Misha, please..."

"Misha? Who's Misha?" he whispers right against Dean's ear.

With a sigh, Dean squeezes Misha's ass and yanks him forward. He buries his face in his neck and takes a deep breath, but...this guy doesn't smell like Cas. So Dean snaps out of it, pushes himself away and stares at the guy in a panic.

"What is going _on?"_ Misha asks with a laugh, his voice back to normal.

"I, uh, I have to go."

Dean fumbles with the door and rushes out backward before the guy can respond. Hopefully they can get out of here before he has to see him again.

Wishes come true in this universe, but in the worst way possible. Misha is killed that night. As horrible as that is, it’s actually a pretty solid lead for Sam and Dean, and they figure out that they need to return to the set of Bobby’s house.

“You do realize, if this doesn’t work, we might be stuck here?” Dean asks as they’re waiting for some angel to show up.

“No, we’ll figure out a way back.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t be that broken up if we didn’t, though.” Dean wouldn’t either, honestly. As much as he keeps saying he hates this place, what he really hates the most is that he’s jealous of Jensen Ackles.

“What? Don’t be stupid.”

“Well, I’m just saying. No hell below us, above us only sky.”

“Dean, our friends are back there.”

“What friends? Here, you got a pretty good life. I mean, back home the hits have been coming since you were six months old. You got to admit, being a bazillionaire, married to Ruby, the whole package. It’s no contest.”

“No. We’re not even brothers here, man. We don’t even talk to each other. And none of this _means_ anything. We don’t mean anything here.”

Yeah. The whole not being brothers thing would really suck. “All right, then. Let’s get our crazy show back home.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Man Who Would Be King through the end of season 6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much quoting canon in this like SO MUCH wow did I even write anything original in this who even knows anymore.

You know, I've...I've been here for a very long time. And I remember many things. I remember being at a shoreline, watching a little gray fish heave itself up on the beach and an older brother saying, "Don't step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish." I remember the Tower of Babel—All 37 feet of it, which I suppose was impressive at the time. And when it fell, they howled “divine wrath.” But come on—dried dung can only be stacked so high. I remember Cain and Abel, David and Goliath, Sodom and Gomorrah. And, of course, I remember the most remarkable event—remarkable because it never came to pass. It was averted by two boys, an old drunk and a fallen angel. The grand story. And we ripped up the ending and the rules—and destiny, leaving nothing but freedom and choice. Which is all well and good, except...Well, what if I've made the wrong choice? How am I supposed to know? I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you my story. Let me tell you everything.

“Hello, Dean. Are you all right?” It's difficult to land in Dean's car when he is driving it, but our connection is very strong, so I'm getting accustomed to it. I am able to find him almost anywhere, which I am prideful about for some reason.

“Yeah, I'm—I'm fine. How are you?”

“Just wanted to check in.”

“So, any word on, uh, Satan Jr. being alive?”

“I'm...looking, believe me. I just don't understand how Crowley could've tricked me.” It’s painful to lie to Dean’s face, but then again, he’s the one who taught me how.

“Well, he's a tricky son of a bitch, that's how. Doesn't matter. But if he is up and kicking, then what does matter is finding him, ripping his head off, and shoving it up his ass.”

I hope he doesn’t mean any of that literally. “What about you? Have you found anything?”

“No, nothing yet.”

“Where's Sam?”

“He's keeping busy. He's tracking a djinn in Omaha as we speak. In fact, I'm heading out there right now to meet up with him.”

“Well, I'd come if I could.” No, I wouldn’t. Also, he's lying.

“Yeah, no, I—I get it. No worries. But, Cas, you'll call, right? If you get into real trouble?”

I’m already in real trouble. I suppose it’s best not to lie more than I already have in this conversation, so I leave.

While I’m still in the air, I hear a quick prayer from Dean. Or maybe a curse. _God damn it, Cas. Stupid son of a bitch._ I've never told Dean that I can hear him every time he thinks my name. He thinks about me a lot, usually bitterly.

Crowley is more suspicious of my loyalties than he was before the incident with the “Jefferson Starships.” With Eve dead, he believes finding the door to purgatory will be near impossible.

“You screwed up, Cas. You let the hounds mangle the pheasant, and now I am up to my elbows in it.”

I swear to God if he calls the Winchesters some degrading name _one more time—_ “What is your point?”

“The point is, you're distracted, and that makes me nervous.”

“I am holding up my end.”

“Ah, yes. But is that all you're holding? See, the stench of that Impala's all over your overcoat, angel. I thought we'd agreed—no more nights out with the boys.”

As if what I do or don’t do with either of the Winchesters is any of Crowley’s business. But in this instance, it doesn’t seem beneficial to lie. “I spoke with Dean. I needed to know what they know.”

“About what? About me, maybe? 'Cause I happen to have it on good authority that your two little pets are currently trying to hunt me down! Forgive me, but I think you might have a little conflict of interest here.”

“They are _not_ my _pets.”_

Crowley had a point, of course. My interest was conflicted. I still considered myself the Winchesters’ guardian. And friend. After all, they taught me how to stand up for myself, what to stand for, and what generally happens to you when you do. I was done. I was over. And then the most extraordinary thing happened for the second time in my human vessel. I was put back. And we had won—we had stopped Armageddon.

But at a terrible cost.

I wanted to stay with Dean. For a little while, at least. I wanted to make sure he was all right, that he wouldn’t do something stupid like sell his soul again or raise Lucifer from the cage. But then I knew what I had to do. Instead of watching Dean’s every move, I decided to go to hell myself, to free Sam. The first time I went to hell it was on a holy mission. I had help, since I was not the first angel to try to pull Dean out. The thing about Dean is that his soul rejected hell completely. It wanted nothing more than to escape that place. I still don't know why it wasn't an easy mission for any bored angel. But with Sam, it was nearly impossible. Not because his soul is twisted, but because Lucifer wanted him there as much as I wanted him here. But I was full of confidence, of mission. But I see now that was arrogance—hubris—because, of course, I hadn’t truly raised Sam…not all of him.

“Please. I'm begging you, Castiel. Just kill the Winchesters.”

I hold back a laugh, but only barely. “No.”

“Fine. Then I'll do it myself.”

“If you kill them, I'll just bring them back again.” And I’ll kill _you._

“No, you won't. Not where I'll put them. Trust me.”

“I said no. Don't worry about them.”

“Don't worry about—what, like Lucifer didn't worry? Or Michael? Or Lilith or Alastair or Azazel didn't worry? Am I the only fucking game piece on the board who doesn't underestimate those denim-wrapped nightmares?”

Denim-wrapped nightmares. Yes, I like that much better than “hounds” or “little pets.” “Just find purgatory. If you don't, we will both die again and again, until the end of time. The Winchesters won't get to you.”

“Let them get to me! I'll tear their fucking hearts out!”

I go check on the Winchesters to make sure they aren’t close to finding Crowley. I arrive at an inopportune time.

“So, what'd you tell him?”

“Nothing. Just relax.” I can tell Dean is stressed out and is telling _himself_ to relax more than he’s telling Sam.

“What's the hubbub?” Bobby asks.

“I saw Cas. He popped in on me about two hours back.”

“What'd you tell him?”

“Nothing, all right? Told him we were on some crap monster hunt. He doesn't know that we're getting close to Crowley. You know, he's our friend...And we are lying to him through our teeth.”

It’s not comforting to know that Dean is hurt by this just as much as I am.

“Dean—”

“So he burned the wrong bones. So Crowley tricked him.”

“He's an angel.”

“He is the Balki Bartokomous of heaven! He can make a mistake!” I make a note to look up who Balki Bartokomous is.

“Nobody's saying nothing yet.”

“You think that Cas is in with Crowley. _Crowley?_ ”

“Look, I'm just saying I don't know. Now, look, I hate myself for even thinking it. But I don't know.”

“Dean, he's our friend, too, OK? And I'd die for him. I would, but...Look, I'm praying we're wrong here.” I had no idea _Sam_ would die for me. That makes this even worse.

“But if we ain't...If there's a snowball of a snowball's chance here, that means we're dealing with a Superman who's gone dark side. Which means we've got to be cautious, we got to be smart and maybe stock up on some Kryptonite.” I understand that reference.

 _“_ This makes you Lois Lane.” The wrong Winchester says this to the other. I sometimes wonder if any other human on earth deflects and projects as often as Dean Winchester does.

“One problem at a time here. We got to find Crowley now, before the damn fool cracks open purgatory.”

So they already suspected. And the worst part is Dean, trying so hard to be loyal with every instinct telling him otherwise. I wish I could offer him some sort of reassurance, but I have none. Loyalty is arguably his most notable characteristic, but trust? Trust is harder to come by. I’m betraying them. I’m betraying the man I love more than I’ve ever loved anything.

Bobby tortures a demon for information and finds out about Ellsworth. If there was a demon counterpart to Bobby Singer, Ellsworth would be it. This demon would lead the Winchesters to Crowley, and Crowley would tear their hearts out.

I kill every demon in the place. I had no choice. I did it to protect the boys. Or to protect myself. I—I don’t know anymore.

Each soul generates its own paradise in heaven. After I saved Sam and purposely did not let Dean know I was still on earth, I returned to the eternal Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub in 1953. I should have known that even here, even though I hadn’t even switched back into my true form yet, other angels would find me.

“God brought you back. He chose you, Cas...to lead us.” Rachel was a good soldier, but not a very good rebel.

“No. No one leads us anymore. We're all free to make our own choices and to choose our own fates.”

“What does God want?”

“God wants you to have freedom.”

“But what does he want us to do with it?”

If I knew then what I know now, I might have said, "It's simple. Freedom is a length of rope. God wants you to hang yourself with it."

Those first weeks back in heaven were surprisingly difficult. Explaining freedom to angels is a bit like teaching poetry to fish. And then there was Raphael. I’m not ashamed to say that my big brother knocked me into next week.

None of that matters now, though.

“We’d call Cas.”

“What?”

“This is usually the point where we would call Cas for help.”

I hate hiding from the Winchesters, especially when the older is determined that I will prove myself worthy of their trust.

“We talked about this,” Bobby says.

“Yeah, Dean.”

“No, you talked. I listened. This is Cas, guys. I mean, when there was no one, and we were stuck—and I mean really stuck—he broke ranks. He has gone to the mat cut and bleeding for us so many fucking times. This is Cas! Don't we owe him the benefit of the doubt at least?”

No, they really don’t. I don’t deserve it.

Giving into Dean’s wishes, Sam prays to me. When I don’t show up, Dean prays, too. I can’t help but laugh at that. It’s nice to see they both understand that I am more inclined to answer Dean.

But I don’t go to them. Because I know they would have questions I can’t answer. Because I’m afraid.

Crowley sends his very best to attack the Winchesters and Bobby. I was caught as much by surprise as the rest of them. And it left me with yet another choice. I could reveal myself and smite the demons. Of course Crowley wouldn't like it. But on the other hand, they’re my friends.

For a brief moment, I’m me again.

“It is good to see you, Cas.” Dean sounds relieved.

“You all right?”

“Yeah. Perfect timing, Cas.”

“I'm glad I found you. I come with news.”

“Yeah? What?”

“I firmly believe Crowley is alive.”

“Yeah. You think, Kojak? Well, Bobby, what do we think about Cas saving our asses, _again?_ ”

“I think we owe you an apology,” Bobby admits.

“Why?”

“We've been hunting Crowley this whole time, and keeping it from you,” Sam says regretfully.

“We thought...You were working with him.”

“You thought what?”

“I know. It's crazy, right?”

I don’t look at Dean.

“It's just that you torched the wrong bones. It doesn't matter. We—we were wrong.”

“You know...You could've just asked me.”

“And we should have. We never should've doubted you. It's—I just hope you can forgive us.”

Wonders never cease. They trusted me again. But it was just another lie. “It's forgotten.”

“Thanks.”

“It is a little absurd, though. Superman going to the dark side. I'm still just Castiel.”

“I guess we can put away the Kryptonite, right?”

“Exactly.” Of course, I didn't realize it at the time. But it was all over. Right then—just like that. My arrogance getting in the way again.

I return to Crowley.

“You sent demons after them?”

“You kill my hunters. Why can't I kill yours?”

“They're my friends.”

“You can't have friends, not anymore. I mean, my god. You're losing it!”

“I'm fine.”

“Yeah. You're the very picture of mental health. Come on. You don't think I know what this is all about?”

“Enlighten me.”

“The big lie—the Winchesters still buy it. The good Cas, the righteous Cas. And long as they still believe it, you get to believe it. Well, I got news for you, kitten. A whore is a whore is a whore.”

That’s not really what this is about, but I still shove Crowley into the wall anyway.

“I'm only going to say this once. If you touch a hair on their heads, I will tear it all down. Our arrangement—everything. I'm still an angel, and I will bury you.”

I ask myself, “What am I doing with this vermin?” As if I didn’t already know the answer.

Raphael is stronger than me. I won’t survive a straight fight. So I went to an old friend for help. But watching him, I stopped. Everything he sacrificed, and I was about to ask him for more. I couldn’t do that to Dean. Not after everything we’d been through together. I couldn’t take him away from his new life with his new family. As much as he hated to admit it, he was happy here.

Just as I was about to give up, that’s when Crowley showed and offered to make a deal. I was no fool. I knew who Crowley was and what he did. But I was smarter than him, stronger. I see now that I was prideful. And in all likelihood, I _was_ a fool.

Crowley spun a tale about me being God’s favorite and God choosing me to lead the armies of heaven. I was made for big things. The errors in my system were purposely placed there to carry out God’s will. It was all pride.

I went back to heaven and basically said fuck you to Raphael. And so went the long road of good intentions.

_Castiel, uh…we need you for a little powwow down here, so come on down._

I don’t hesitate this time to answer Dean’s prayer, although this was the one time I really should have. They trap me in a ring of holy fire, and I can’t stand to look at Dean. I deserve to see every bit of disappointment in the lines of his face, and yet I can’t.

“You got to look at me, man. You got to level with me and tell me what's going on. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not working with Crowley.”

I look at him and falter.

“You son of a bitch.”

“Let me explain.”

“You're in it with him? You and Crowley have been going after purgatory together? You have, huh? This whole time.”

 _This whole time._ He trusted me this whole time. All the things we’ve been through…this whole time. “I did it to protect you. I did it to protect all of you.”

“Protect us how? By opening a hole into monster land?” Sam cuts in.

“To get the souls. I can stop Raphael. Please, you have to trust me.”

“Trust you? How in the hell are we supposed to trust you now?”

“I'm still me. I'm still your friend. Sam, I'm the one who raised you from perdition.”

That was not the right thing to say. “What? Well, no offense, but you did a pretty piss-poor job of it. Wait. Did you bring me back soulless—on purpose?”

No. No, no. “How could you think that?”

“Well, I'm thinking a lot of things right now, Cas.”

“Listen. Raphael will kill us all. He'll turn the world into a graveyard. I had no choice.”

“No, you had a choice. You just made the wrong one.”

“You don't understand. It's complicated.”

“No, actually, it's not, and you know that. Why else would you keep this whole thing a secret, huh, unless you knew that it was wrong? When shit like this comes around, we deal with it like we always have. What we don't do is we don't go out and make another deal with the devil!”

I look at Dean now. “It sounds so simple when you say it like that. Where were you when I needed to hear it?”

“I was there. Where were you? You should've come to us for help, Cas.”

Yes. Yes, I should have. “Maybe. It's too late now. I can't turn back now. I can't.”

“It's not too late. Damn it, Cas! We can fix this!”

“Dean, it's not broken! Run. You have to run now! Run!”

I will not watch the Winchesters die for me.

Crowley appears after they leave.

“If you touch the Winchesters...”

“Please. I heard you the first time. I promise, nary a hair on their artfully tousled heads. Besides, I think they've proven my point for me. It's always your friends, isn't it, in the end? We try to change. We try to improve ourselves. It's always our friends who got to claw into our sides and hold us back. But you know what I see here? The new god and the new devil, working together.”

“Enough. Stop talking. And get out of my sight.”

“Well...Glad I came. You're welcome, by the way. You know the difference between you and me? I know what I am. What are you, Castiel? What exactly are you willing to do?”

I go to Dean later. He threatens to kill me. I leave without saying goodbye.

So, that's everything. I believe it's what you would call a…tragedy from the human perspective. But maybe the human perspective is limited. I don't know. That's why I'm asking you, Father. One last time. Am I doing the right thing? Am I on the right path? You have to tell me. You have to give me...a sign. Give me a sign. Because if you don't, I'm going to just—I'm going to do whatever I—whatever I must.

 

* * *

 

Dean doesn’t have time to mourn the loss of a friend. Hell, they’ve lost plenty of people lately. No use crying over Cas going dark side. It’s not like he’s dead again.

Besides, he’s got bigger issues to worry about. Lisa and Ben, specifically.

He tries to stay calm when Ben calls, but he feels helpless. They’re going to die with him on the line, and he’s going to have to live with the fact that it’s all his fault they even got in this mess in the first place. Ben listens to every word he says, but it’s too late.

“I’m coming to get you and your mom, I promise. You with me, Ben? Ben?” No answer. “Ben?”

A second later, a different voice comes through the speaker. “Hello, Dean. Fancy a chat?”

 

* * *

 

The only things Sam’s seen his brother put into his body in the past 24 hours is coffee and whiskey, sometimes combined. He’s been torturing demons one after another nonstop, and it started worrying Sam about 23 hours ago. Of course he’s worried about Lisa and Ben, too. He cares about them because Dean cares about them. But he’s more concerned about his brother than anything else.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“Look, man. You—you're running on what, uh, whiskey and—and coffee and whatever else you're taking.” God knows what he’s put into his system to be this wired.

“Yeah, and?”

“And we're grasping at straws here, man.”

“Look, I kill enough of these demons, eventually one of them's going to tell me where Crowley is. So we good?”

“Well look, you've been at it for a while, why don't you at least let me take over? You deserve a break.”

“No thanks.”

“Dean.”

“Sam, back off. Lisa and Ben, wherever they are, that is a hundred percent on me. And if they are hurt...I'll yell if I need you.”

Dean’s loyalty is going to be the death of him one day.

Completely desperate, Sam calls Cas.

“Castiel, it's Sam. Um, so look, I don't know if you're in on this whole Ben-Lisa thing, but if you have any heart whatsoever, bring them back to us, man. C'mon. Please. I'm begging you. I am begging you, do you understand?”

God, Sam had really started to believe that Cas cared about them, too. Especially Dean. _At least_ Dean. All of this has ripped a hole right through their “Team Free Will” bullshit. Cas can take his free will and shove it up his ass.

 

* * *

 

Torturing demons becomes more of a process than anything, and Dean gets lazy at one point and nearly gets himself killed. Cas shows up and saves him.

God damn it.

“I didn't ask for your help.”

“Well, regardless, you're welcome.”

“Why are you here?”

“I had no idea Crowley would take Lisa and Ben.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean wants to believe him.

“You don't believe me.”

“I don't believe a word that's coming out of your mouth.”

“I thought you said that we were like family. Well I think that, too. Shouldn't trust run both ways?”

Is he fucking serious right now. “Cas, I just can't...”

“Dean, I do everything that you ask. I always come when you call, and I am your friend. Still, despite your lack of faith in me, and now your threats, I just saved you, yet again. Has anyone but your closest kin ever done more for you? All I ask is this one thing.”

“Trust your plan to pop purgatory?”

“I've earned that, Dean.”

Dean scoffs. Yeah, he _had_ earned it. And then he lost it in a second.

“I came to tell you that I will find Lisa and Ben, and I will bring them back. Stand behind me, the one time I ask.”

“You're asking me to stand down?”

“Dean.”

“That's the same damn ransom note that Crowley handed me. You know that, right? Well no thanks. I'll find them myself. In fact, why don't you go back to Crowley and tell him that I said you can both kiss my ass.”

Dean decides right then that he’s never trusting another angel again. _God, Cas, why did you have to do this?_ It’s not meant to be a prayer, but Dean knows he hears it anyway.

Balthazar tells Sam that he knows where Lisa and Ben are, and Dean has to immediately take back what he just decided about not trusting angels. He’ll trust Balthazar just this once. He doesn’t really have another choice.

After killing a shit ton of demons, they finally find Lisa and Ben alive. The relief that washes over Dean blocks out the fact that he’s lost his best friend and he hasn’t slept in three days.

That is, until Lisa turns a knife on her son and reveals herself to be a demon. Why does Dean have to see everyone he’s ever loved get possessed? Well, except for Cas. He’s just an asshole all on his own.

“Don't listen to her, Ben.”

“What? I was just going to tell him that you're his real daddy.”

No. No. Not now. No.

“Just kidding. Who knows who your real dad is, kid? Your mom's a slut.”

“You shut your mouth.”

“Oh what, you're her white knight now? She wishes she never met you, Dean. You're the worst mistake she ever made.” She turns to Ben. “Second worst, after keeping you.”

“It's not your mom, Ben. She's lying.”

“Says the C-minus lay with 10 miles of daddy issues.” She laughs and shakes her head. “You know, she was always just a _little_ afraid that you would leave her for a guy. And you know what? _You did._ Sammy came back, and it was over. Great work, Dean.”

Dean throws holy water in her face and gets Ben out of the line of fire. He’s not going to stab Lisa, of course he’s not going to stab her. He begins the exorcism and—

She stabs herself before he can finish.

When he’s done with the incantation, Lisa falls to the floor.

He shoves a gun in Ben’s hands and tells him to shoot.

“Pull yourself together, Ben! You want your mom to die?”

_Snap out of it, Dean! You want your brother to die?_

“Point and shoot! Quit thinking about it.”

_They’re not people—you shoot and you don’t hesitate. You hear me, son?_

"Ben! Come on! Keep up or we're all dead!"

_Dean! You better man up or else you'll lose your family! Focus!_

 

Cas shows up at the hospital and heals Lisa without being prompted. It’s a relief, but it doesn’t fix the hole in Dean's heart.

“Thank you. I wish this changed anything.”

“I know. So do I. All else aside, I just wanted to fix what I could.”

“There’s one more thing you could do for me.” Dean told Ben that the demon was lying, but there was one thing she said that he can’t get out of his head.

“Of course. Anything.”

“I want you to erase their memories of me.”

“Dean, I don’t—”

“Just do it, Cas. It’s better if they never knew me.”

“It constantly amazes me the length to which you undervalue yourself.” Cas says it to himself, but Dean still hears.

No, it’s better this way.

 

* * *

 

Three weeks later, Lisa Braeden wakes up from a nightmare. The next morning, she starts to remember things that she's not entirely sure actually happened.

Small things at first. Meeting a beautiful boy on a sidewalk in the middle of nowhere. Seeing him again later at a bar.

Thinking the boy was her son’s father nine months later.

Opening her door to find a man, not a boy, who told her things she had never heard of before.

Then the memories became more confusing. The man was really good at making omelets. He was obsessed with cars and insisted that Ben learn how to fix them. He was in love with Clint Eastwood, and Lisa faked jealousy over it.

She realized after a while that this man lived in their house, at least for a little while. He had a slew of issues, but she and Ben both loved him. She and him were not very good at romance (but they had great sex).

The blanks filled in slowly over time, and it helped that Ben started to remember things, too.Then, also, there was the card.

She found it in a shoebox in the back of her closet when she was looking for a certain belt. It was an anniversary card, plain and homemade with neat, all-caps handwriting on the inside.

_Lis. I don't really know where to begin. I guess, I can't believe you've put up with me for six months when I can barely even put up with me. Honestly, I don't know where I'd be without you and Ben. Or maybe I do, and I just don't want to think about it. Do you remember that weekend when our power went out, and Ben taught us how to play spades? We invited Sid and Diane over and got so into it we ended up playing for 13 hours straight? That night, when you fell asleep on my chest, all I could do was stare up at the ceiling and realize that I wanted to be alive. I didn't think I would ever want that again, Lis. You did that for me. You've done everything for me. I could never repay you even if I spent the rest of my life trying...which I plan on doing._

_I'm sorry I haven't been the man you deserve. Seriously, in no universe do I deserve you, babe. Why you even let me stay at all I'll never understand. I ~~hope~~ want to spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you. I want to raise that snot-nosed kid together and send him off to college and grow old and have grandkids that we spoil. I want all of that with you. I've never wanted anything in my life. But I want you, and I want Ben. You're the best woman I've ever known, and I wish to God that kid was mine. _

_We'll make it, Lis. We'll make it through anything. Hell, I've been through the apocalypse. I've been to hell itself. I'm ready to face the world with you. God, this is the cheesiest shit I've ever written. Thanks for not making fun of me in the future after you finish reading this._

_I care so damn much about you, sweetheart. The kid, too. I would go to the ends of the earth for you guys, no questions asked. I want you to know I'll take care of you no matter what, all right? I'll ~~al~~ be here for you. ~~As much as I can.~~ I'm sorry again—sorry I'm not whole. Sorry I'm too much to handle sometimes. But I promise you, you're family. I need you._

_Happy half anniversary._

_Love,  
Dean_

Lisa cries on the floor of her closet for almost an hour. She wishes more than anything that she knew why he was at the hospital with them. Why he lied to them.

Why he acted like he never knew them.

Maybe his memory was gone, too.

His name was Dean Winchester. She loved him.

Lisa decides it’s probably best if she doesn’t try to contact him.

 

* * *

 

Dean is going to kill Castiel. He’s going to rip his fucking heart right out of his chest and stomp on it. They’ll be even then.

“Sammy? Come on, snap out of it.”

He doesn’t know what’s going on inside Sam’s head, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know. He just wants his brother to be all right, and he wants Cas to pay for breaking down the wall inside his mind that was keeping him sane. If Sam wakes up, Dean doesn’t know which version of him it’ll be. He’s afraid to find out.

Balthazar sticks his neck out for them again and tells them where Cas and Crowley are.

Dean feels a little bad when they show up and discover that Cas has killed Balthazar. This has gone too far.

But it goes further. Castiel is trying to weasel his way out of the deal with Crowley, and Dean can’t believe how fucking stupid his angel is. Raphael shows up, it turns into a dick-measuring contest, Dean feels like he’s interrupting some weird family meeting. When Cas swallows all the souls or whatever, the whole place goes eerily quiet.

Dean does the only thing he knows how to do in these situations. He goes for the heart.

“Listen to me. Listen, I know there's a lot of bad water under the bridge, but we were family once. I'd have died for you. I almost did a few times. So if that means anything to you...Please. I've lost Lisa, I've lost Ben, and now I've lost Sam. Don't make me lose you, too. You don't need this kind of juice anymore, Cas. Get rid of it before it kills us all.”

The world could explode at any second, and Dean still feels overjoyed when he sees his brother sneaking up behind Cas. Sammy’s OK. Thank God.

“You're just saying that because I won. Because you're afraid. You're not my family, Dean. I have no family.”

Sam stabs Castiel in the back. It has absolutely no effect. No blood or anything. Dean feels a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.

“I'm glad you made it, Sam. But the angel blade won't work, because I'm not an angel anymore. I'm your new god. A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your lord. Or I shall destroy you.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First half of season 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for gender bending that results in Dean having a panic attack. Also Dean's past prostitution is explained, which started when he was 17 and is dubcon.

_May that night be barren;_ _may no shout of joy be heard in it. May those who curse days curse that day, those who are ready to rouse[Leviathan.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=job+3%3A7-8&version=NKJV) _

“Cas, come on, this isn't you.”

“The Castiel you knew is gone.”

Well, isn’t this just fucking fantastic. “So what then? Kill us?”

“What a brave little ant you are. You know you're powerless, you wouldn't dare move against me again. That would be pointless. So I have no need to kill you. Not now. Besides, once you were my favorite pets before you turned and bit me.”

Is this a _fucking_ joke. “Who are you?”

“I'm God. And if you stay in your place, you may live in my kingdom. If you rise up, I will strike you down. Not doing so well, are you, Sam?”

“I'm fine...”

“You said you would fix him. You promised!”

 _“If_ you stood down, which you hardly did. Be thankful for my mercy. I could have cast you back into the pit.”

“Cas, come on, this is nuts! You can turn this around, please!” Dean doesn’t really like begging, but he has to be able to get to Cas somehow.

“I hope for your sake this is the last you see me.”

Castiel disappears.

The next several days pass in a blur. It’s been one hell of a week, and Dean would really just like to go home and curl up in bed and rest in the comfort of Lisa’s arms wrapped around him. Instead, he’s ignoring all of his problems by burying himself in the chassis of his car, and if he can get her fixed then maybe he’ll feel a little bit better about everything that’s going on. At the very least, it looks like Sam might be doing all right.

_The sudden deaths of some 200 religious leaders are currently under investigation. The Vatican has yet to issue a statement, but some are already calling this an act of God._

Dean becomes obsessed with listening to the news. He turns on the radio in the Impala while he’s working, and he ignores Bobby and Sam when they come outside and tell him to shut it off. He turns the TV on as soon as he comes inside, and he really doesn’t care that he’s the only one who wants it on. When Sam and Bobby are asleep, he checks online for any new headlines.

_Believed to be target hits high up in white-supremacy organizations. The FBI now believes the Ku Klux Klan has been forced to disband._

It’s Cas. It’s Cas, and that means Dean is not going to let a minute pass without knowing what’s going on. If Cas were to…do something really stupid or—or die or something, well, Dean is going to be the first person to know.

_A freak lightning strike on the heels of the fire that burned down the Center for Vibrational Enlightenment earlier today. Said a spokesman, "This tragedy represents the largest loss in New Age motivational speaker history.”_

“Motivational speakers?”

Dean didn’t even hear Sammy come outside. “Yeah, I'm not sure new Cas gets irony any better than old Cas. Of course, old Cas wouldn't smite Madison Square Garden just to prove a point. He is off the deep end of the deep end. And there's no slowing down.”

“So, what? Try to talk to him again?”

“Sam.”

“Dean, all we can do is talk to the guy.”

He’ll never understand his brother’s faith in things that are so obviously hopeless. “He's not a guy. He's God. And he's pissed. And when God gets righteous, you get the hell out of the way. Haven't you read the Bible?”

“I guess...”

“Cas is never coming back. He's lied to us, he used us, he cracked your gourd like it was nothing. No more talk—we have spent enough on him.”

“OK,” Sam acquiesces, but Dean remains unconvinced.

If Sam wants to pray to this new psycho God, then so be it. They’re all dead anyway.

They call Death. Well, really, they trap him. They really are just beyond desperate at this point. The new Cas finds out about it of course.

_You’ve erased any nostalgia I had for you, Dean._

_Nostalgia?_ Really? That’s the word Cas is going with? What a fucking joke this whole fiasco is. _Nostalgia._ As if that sums up what they've been through together in the past few years.

When Death reveals that Sam’s experiencing hallucinations, that’s really just the icing on the cake. Or, no, really it’s an entirely new cake. When it’s bad, it’s all bad.

“You want some coffee with that?”

Dean takes a generous gulp of his whiskey and winces. “It's 6:00 p.m. somewhere.”

“We got to hit the road. I mean, how are we supposed to get Cas to that lab by 3:59 a.m.?”

“We don't.”

“What do you mean, ‘We don't’?”

“I mean, we can't bring the horse to water, and we can't make it drink. Why fool ourselves?”

Sam actually looks like he pities Dean. That’s just great. “Dean, look, I know you think that Cas is gone—”

“It's 'cause he is.”

“He's not! He's in there somewhere, Dean. I know it.”

No, no he’s not. Dean won’t get his hopes up. No. “No, you don't.”

“No, I don't. But, look, I was pretty far gone sometimes myself, and you never gave up on me.”

That’s not even true. Dean’s given up on Sam plenty of times. He pours more whiskey.

Dean is unsure how long it is that Sam leaves him to his whiskey and porn, but by the time his brother comes back the bottle is empty and he feels lightheaded. That’s why he thinks he’s imagining things when a really beaten-up Cas appears in the door frame and asks, “Sam?”

“Cas.”

“I heard your call. I need help.”

Yeah, he’s definitely drunk. Maybe he’s hallucinating like Sammy. Somehow on the drive to the makeshift laboratory Dean gets shoved in the backseat with not-Cas and receives death glares from Sam in the rearview mirror for ignoring him. Whatever, he doesn’t owe Cas _anything._ And it's not like any of this is actually happening anyway. _  
_

When they get to the lab, Sam goes to find a jar of blood, and Dean and Bobby are left to prepare the room while Cas gets closer to his—his death.

“Dean?”

“What, you need something else?”

“No.”

Dean turns to look at him, and he shakes his head at the pitiful face Cas is making. “Don’t, Cas.” He flashes his eyes over at Bobby and then back to Cas. “We are not having this conversation here.”

There’s a pause, and Dean turns away from Cas.

But then Cas continues, “I feel regret, about you and what I did to Sam.”

“Yeah, well, you should.”

“If there was time, if I was strong enough, I'd—I'd fix him now. I just wanted to make amends before I die.”

He’s got a lot more to amend than _that._ “OK.”

“Is it working?”

“Does it make you feel better?”

“No. You?”

“Not a bit.”

The portal works. It opens up as Bobby is reciting the incantation, and Cas turns and says, “I’m sorry, Dean,” and it doesn’t make anything better, but Dean for some reason feels guilty that the angel’s last words were to _him._ Surely that was a waste.

When Castiel dies, it again doesn’t feel real.

“He's cold,” Bobby announces.

“Is he breathing?”

“No.”

“Maybe angels don't need to breathe.”

Bobby looks at him like he knows something, like he knows how Dean feels right now, which is impossible because Dean doesn’t even know how he feels right now. “He's gone, Dean.”

“Damn it. Cas, you child. Why didn't you listen to me?”

Suddenly there’s a sharp noise, then Cas’ face clears up and he takes a deep breath as his eyes open. Yeah, definitely still hallucinating.

“I’m ashamed. I really overreached.”

“You think?”

“I’m going to find some way to redeem myself to you.”

Dean is absolutely not having this fucking conversation right now. “All right, well, one thing at a time. Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Cas pushes Dean away from him and starts yelling some nonsense, and then he’s telling them to run but there’s no way they’re going to leave Cas, not _now,_ and—

“Cas is—he’s gone. He’s dead. We run the show now. This is going to be so much fun.”

 

 _Can you pull in Leviathan with a fishhook_ _or tie down its tongue with a rope?Can you put a cord through its nose or pierce its jaw with a hook? Will it keep begging you for mercy? Will it speak to you with[gentle words?](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=job+41%3A1-3&version=NIV)_

 

Dean is standing on the bank of a manmade lake, holding a drenched coat in his hands and trying to figure out how he’s supposed to mourn the death of—of a friend? An enemy? Something completely different? He folds the trench coat up like a flag and presses his hand to it as if he can feel Cas’ heartbeat through it. He doesn’t feel anything. So he shoves the coat into the trunk of his car and tries to forget that it's there. He doesn't forget.

 

Sammy nearly kills himself. Dean presses his thumb into the bandage on Sam’s hand and tells him to trust in him.

“This is different. _I_ am different.”

Dean is going to have to be Sam’s bedrock, his sure foundation. If his brother’s going to survive this, Dean has to be there with him every step of the way. Steel himself so nothing affects him, make himself into a shield for his brother and nothing else.

Bobby’s house is burned to the ground. They’re in an ambulance. Sam is seizing up. Dean has a broken leg.

This would be the part where they call Cas.

 

* * *

 

“How’s your leg?”

“It’s great, I ran a marathon this morning. Did you get pie?”

“Yeah, I got pie. What’s funny is that you wouldn’t even run a  _mile_ with a _good_ leg.”

Dean balls up the grocery bag and hurls it at Sam. “Hey, fuck you.”

Sam laughs and sits at the table, grabs his book from where he left it open. “How much longer you think you’ve got?”

“A couple weeks maybe.” Dean shoves a fork under his cast and scratches furiously. “I hate this damn thing.”

“Well, don’t do anything stupid like try to rip it off or something.”

Dean rolls his eyes and starts eating his pie—with a different fork than the one he shoved down his cast. “How are _you_ doing?”

“I see Lucifer about 14 hours out of the day. But hey, at least I know he’s not real.”

Somebody dies on the soap opera Dean’s watching, but Dean turns the volume down. He doesn’t say anything.

They haven’t been talking much lately, especially not since Castiel died. Sure, they’ve been busy trying to figure out what to do about the Leviathan, and then Dean broke his leg, but even so they're talking to each other less than usual these days. Dean is different now, Sam knows. Something has shifted in him, changed even in the way he carries himself, in the way he speaks. Surely it has something to do with living with Lisa for a year, but Sam is not allowed to ask about that. He hates that he was soulless and didn’t give a shit when it was all still happening. The fact that Dean—that he wiped his _family’s_ memories demonstrates how lost he is. Thinking they were better off never having met him proves how highly Dean thinks of himself. Sam never got to talk to Lisa, but even without his soul he could tell that she really loved his brother and that he loved her. Ben, too. It was a life Dean would’ve been fit for if he had been raised the way he was supposed to be instead of being raised as a hunter. In any case, Dean is different.

Everything with Cas fucked things up, too. Sam has no idea what the hell was going on between his brother and Cas, and he’s too afraid to ask. Things have been different since—well, if he really thinks about it, things have been different since Dean mysteriously called Sam up after they separated and asked if they could meet up again and stop the apocalypse together a couple years back. There was a fundamental shift in the way Dean looked at Cas, the way he treated him, and Sam had ignored it. But now it seems relevant. Because Cas is dead, and Sam would really like to know to what extent that fact is affecting Dean. So far, he seems bitter and unforgiving, as if Cas had poured his heart out to him and Dean had thrown it back at him. Maybe Dean was in love with Cas like Cas was in love with Dean. Maybe.

“Dude,” Dean calls after several minutes.

“Yeah? I’m still here.”

Dean keeps watching TV, and Sam keeps reading. “When you were soulless…”

“Not really liking where that sentence is going, but go ahead. Continue.” Sam sets his book down and stares at the back of his brother’s head.

“You had sex with a dude.”

Sam chokes back a laugh. “Dean, why are you so obsessed with my sexuality?”

“Oh yeah _right,_ like you weren’t goddamn Sherlock Holmes about _my_ sexuality. Spill.”

“That was different. You were tortured by it.”

That gets Dean’s attention, and he awkwardly turns his upper body so he can glare at Sam. “Gee, really, Sam? I didn’t know.”

“I just mean—look, Dean. I don’t really care. About my sexuality, I mean. I mostly like women. Sometimes…you know, it happens. But, like, rarely. And never on purpose.”

“I’m going to pretend like I know what you’re talking about. So the siren…?”

“No, Dean, I didn’t think about it. Stop asking me about that fucking siren already.”

There’s a pause. A woman is crying and saying something in Spanish on TV. Dean turns back to continue watching.

“Brady?” Dean asks.

“Yeah. Before he introduced me to—to Jess. It was short-lived.”

“Huh. Castiel?”

“What?”

“Like, do you think he’s—do you find him attractive? Or whatever.”

Oh poor Dean. “Never really thought about it. You?”

Dean clears his throat and shifts until the couch creaks. “What? No! I just—nothing. Forget it.”

What a productive conversation.

Sam lets at least 10 minutes pass before he asks, "You're not...mad at me, are you?"

"About what?"

"For not telling you that I..."

"Of course not." Dean scratches his leg deliberately. "It might've made things easier when I was younger, but I don't really give a shit now."

"Easier? Like...you wouldn't have felt so alone or something?"

Dean shrugs, and Sam really wishes he could see his brother's face. "I guess. I, uh, I felt like a freak for a while there."

"As if _I_ didn't? Jesus, Dean, I was drinking demon blood at one point, remember? I'm seeing Lucifer for god's sake. I think I win in the freak department."

"Yeah, but those—those are different. That—it's not your fault. Not entirely anyway."

"And you think being attracted to men _is_ your fault?"

He takes a long time to answer. "Not anymore, no. It just—it would have been nice to know somebody else like me. Not saying you're like me, because you're not. But, you know. You know what I'm saying."

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean. I'm sorry."

"Oh please, don't apologize to me. It's not your fault I thought something was wrong with me for liking dick."

"Yeah, but..."

"Sam."

"Fine."

 

On a run to the gas station, Sam learns about a case that sounds eerily similar to one he worked on as a kid. He sneaks off to check it out, and he runs into an old friend. Amy Pond was one of the only kids at school Sam felt comfortable around. She made him feel like he belonged somehow, like he wasn’t destined to be an outcast. Maybe because she was an outcast, too.

He’s not going to kill her. Being a monster is a choice, and she made hers a long time ago. That doesn’t stop Dean from cutting his cast off (typical) and chasing after Sam to see what he’s up to.

“Look, man, I get it, OK? You meet a girl, you feel that spark. But this freak?”

Sam doesn’t have to put up with this bullshit. Not from Dean. "Really, Dean? After the conversation we had to—"

“I didn't mean—”

“Yeah, you did. Look, I see the way you look at me, Dean, like I'm a grenade and you're waiting for me to go off.”

“Sam—”

“I'm not going off. I might be a freak, but that's not the same as dangerous.”

“I didn’t say—”  
  
“It's OK. Say it. You might've been able to move past your own hang-ups, Dean, but I'll never be able to. Mine are just a _bit_ more abnormal, which, come to think of it, is probably why I don't think anything of my sexuality. I've spent a lot of my life trying to be normal—trying to fit in, but come on. I'm not normal. Look at all the crap I've done, look at me now. I'm a grade-A freak. But I'm managing it. And so is Amy.”

Sam half expects Dean to correct him, to encourage him and say, “You’re not a freak, Sammy.” Instead, Dean just asks how Amy is managing. Sometimes Sam wishes his brother’s self-righteousness would take a day off every once in a while.

It takes some convincing, but by the end of their conversation Sam is pretty sure Dean is not going to kill Amy.

 

* * *

 

The Egyptian god Osiris feeds on those who have heavy hearts, and he therefore seeks out individuals burdened by guilt. He finds Dean at a bar, pretty damn drunk and getting ready to hook up with the bartender.

When Dean is put on trial to weigh his guilt, he knows what’s going to happen. He killed Amy against Sam’s wishes, and then he lied about it. Sam felt drawn to Amy because knowing a freak who could live a normal life made him feel better about himself, and if he knew that Dean killed her…

 _Hypocrite_ doesn't even begin to describe him.

The ghost of Jo Harvelle shows up on the stand.

Dean wants to shout at her, ask her if she and her mom made it to heaven and if they’re doing all right. Instead, he sits quietly, chained to his chair, and listens as Osiris and Sam ask Jo questions about him.

Dean lucks out, and Amy isn’t called to the stand. However, he’s not so lucky on his verdict. Osiris gives him a few hours to get his “affairs” in order.

A line of salt is the only thing that separates Dean from Jo when she shows up in his motel room. He’s not scared, but it really sucks that _Jo_ of all people is the one who has to kill him. Especially since he’s the one who killed _her._

“You know I’d never do this,” she says quietly.

“I know.”

“I guess it’s his thing. Some kind of twisted eye for an eye.”

“It’s OK.”

“No, it’s not. You deserve better.”

“No, you did. You deserved better, Jo.”

Jo stops her pacing and tilts her head at Dean. “He was right about one thing.”

“What, your massive crush on me?”

“Shut up. You carry all kinds of shit you don’t have to, Dean. It kind of gets clearer when you’re dead.”

“Well, in that case, you should be able to see that I am 90 percent shit. I get rid of that, what then?”

“You really want to die not knowing?”

No, he already knows. The person he was with Lisa—that was the closest he’ll ever get to knowing. He still drank too much and yelled and fought and did everything wrong, but he was, well, he was himself. He didn’t feel bad about himself.

Jo almost kills him. Almost, but not quite. He doesn’t have time to ask her if she made it to heaven.

 

* * *

 

Cleaning supplies. They’re sea monsters of the Loch Ness variety, and they can be taken down with fucking _cleaning supplies._ Borax and a nice slice to the head is literally all it takes.

It’s hard watching carbon copies of themselves murdering boat loads of people on television, but it’s not like they’re capable of hating the Leviathan versions of themselves more than they hate their actual selves, so whatever. Dean gets to kill both Leviathan Sam and Leviathan Dean, and Sam is jealous that he didn't get to take a shot at one of them. Unfortunately, Leviathan Dean says some things to Sam before he dies. They have all their memories downloaded, and that’s probably the scariest thing they’ve encountered lately.

First of all, he tells Sam that Dean killed Amy.

Second of all, he tells Sam that deep down, Dean still hates himself for being attracted to men. After all this time, after everything they’ve been through, it _still_ haunts him. Despite everything he says to the contrary, he stillthinks there is something fundamentally wrong with him.

Third of all, he tells Sam how much Dean _loves_ him. It’s not really news, but it’s still a bit awkward. The guy goes on and on about how much Dean thinks about him and worries about him and how greatly he values his life over his own. How he wishes nothing more than for Sam to have a normal life with a normal family even if that means he has to spend eternity in hell. He hates himself for putting Sam through everything he’s been through, but he’s incapable of being alone so he does what he must. Dean loves Sam more than anything, yes, but that does not stop him from being inherently selfish.

Fourth of all, he tells Sam about Dean's feelings for Castiel. Of course Sam had his suspicions, but it is strange to have them confirmed by a reliable source. He goes on and on about how torn up Dean is about Cas’ death and how he’s taking it out on Sam. _He doesn’t_ really _care about your stupid head problems, Sam. He just needs something bad to focus on in order to distract himself from thinking about the love of his life dying._

Sam can’t even look at his brother once it’s all said and done. For the second time in the past few years, he chooses to hitchhike over spending one more minute in the car with Dean.

 

* * *

 

He was 18.

No, 17. It wasn’t even at a bar.

He was waiting at the bus stop for Sam to get out of his study session, and a guy came up to him and sat way too close. He was small in stature, smooth skin and sharp eyes. His voice was like a computer, like everything was programmed into him before he said it. Dean didn’t really have the choice to refuse.

“You need extra cash, I can tell. You meet me behind the bar on Seventh at 10 p.m. tonight. Not the parking lot side, that’s dangerous. The other side, where the kitchen door is. Keep your face down, don’t let anyone see those bright freckles of yours. I assure you—it will be worth your time.”

The guy was gone before Dean could even respond. Then Sam showed up and started going on and on about his day at school, but the man’s words rang in Dean’s ears clear as day. He _had_ to know what would happen at the bar on Seventh at 10 p.m., kitchen door side.

That night, Dean met Rob. He was too skinny and had puffy eyes and his dark skin was peeling and missing pigment in several places, most notably across his left cheek. Dean will never forget him.

He was gentle and kind with a voice higher than Dean’s (even at 17), and he showed Dean exactly what he was supposed to do. It was the first time Dean had fingers up his ass that weren’t his own, and it was…exhilarating. When Rob got up to three, Dean braced himself against the concrete wall outside the bar and thrust back with a loud moan each time. He didn’t do anything more than that, and he actually apologized for doing _that_ much—saying it was illegal and everything. But Dean’s body was on fire and he was ready to do anything. Looking back now, he realizes that was less arousal and more adrenaline. His fight-or-flight instinct must've kicked in at some point, and that was his sick way of fighting.

In any case, he learned quickly after that. He never saw Rob or the guy from the bus stop again, but one day some scary-looking dude in an old Mustang stopped in front of Dean and threw cash at him before speeding off. There was a note that said, “Good luck,” and nothing else. Dean still wonders to this day if all of these events actually occurred like this, or if his childlike imagination made up a much kinder story than reality.

It was never consistent work. It wasn’t always bad, either. And that’s the worst thing. Dean wants to hate himself for it, wants to regret every single time he presented his body for another person to take apart, but grossly enough sometimes it was enjoyable. _Exhilarating,_ like that first time. Dangerous.

He treated it like a hunt, like it was just part of the job if he went home bruised and beaten up. He got good at it, too. He could give head and make a guy come in less than five minutes, and then the guy would throw all the money in his wallet at him and beg for more. He could judge what a dude wanted and conform himself to that character with ease—shy boy, brash girl, submissive pet—whatever the role, Dean would perform beautifully. There were women, too, sometimes. He could always tell in their eyes when they knew what he was, and he could tell exactly which ones would ask him to go home with them. It's hard to say now whether he was more comfortable with them or not. Some of them treated him like a kid, which was the worst. Dean doesn't have an Oedipus complex, no thank you.

No, as much as he wishes he did, he doesn’t regret this. Sex is a service, and he was very good at providing it. All he regrets was having to come home to Sammy and lie.

Of course, he says that now. At the time, it was awful. At the time, he had never hated himself more in his life. At the time, it felt like he was ripping himself to pieces with every customer. Losing part of himself each time. When he quit for good at age 24, a burden he didn’t even know he was carrying fell from his shoulders in broken pieces.

Going to hell was like picking up the burden piece by piece, reconstructing it, and then multiplying it a hundredfold.

 

“Does it have something to do with Cas?”

“What? No, Bobby, why would it have anything to do with—with Cas?”

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re grieving the death of somebody you really loved and the only person you have to take it out on is the other person you really love?”

Dean presses his knuckles into his eyes and holds the phone tighter against his ear. “No, it doesn’t have to do with Cas. But thank you for bringing _that_ up, I really needed to be reminded. Do you think we could focus on the case? Please?”

“Fine, grumpy. It’s probably witches. Really powerful ones. You might need back-up.”

“Really? What did I _just_ tell you?”

“Can you please just—just call Sam already? You’ve been driving around aimlessly for days now, aren’t you sick of this?”

“Text me the address,” Dean says monotonously before hanging up on Bobby. It’s not like Dean’s the one who told Sam to leave. It’s not really up to him to ask Sam to come back.

They’ve been separated before. It’s not a big deal.

Small towns usually mean more complex cases, Dean reminds himself as he leaves his second round of interviews with absolutely no new information to show for it. The only suspicious thing he has noticed is that most of the people he’s encountered are either really obsessed with themselves or extremely awkward. A woman at a coffee shop kept staring down at her breasts and inappropriately touching herself. A dude he interviewed kept fidgeting in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest and clearing his throat. For some inexplicable reason these people are hyperaware of their physical appearance.

After a full day of this, Dean decides to call it quits and go to a bar. The second he tries to flirt with a large, muscled woman her eyes go huge and she literally runs off. The next woman is small and shy and refuses his offer to buy her a drink. The third is a little drunk and talks to Dean for two minutes before her attention is drawn to yet another woman who walks by.

Well then. Dean decides maybe he should try to talk to some guys, see if they respond similarly.

Just as he’s thinking this, the decision is made for him. A short, thin guy with a shaved head sits down with a suggestive smile and asks if Dean would like a drink. He’s particularly feminine, more so than Dean’s used to meeting, and after several minutes Dean asks if they should get out of there.

The guy panics. Apologizes. Nearly knocks the stool over as he runs out of the bar.

What the hell is going on here.

Dean goes back to his motel drunk and alone. It’s not like he’s never struck out before, but he definitely has never seen such a wide range of strange reactions to his advances. Hopefully tomorrow he can figure something out.

When Dean wakes up in the morning, the first thing that happens is that his jeans fall to the floor and pool around his feet as soon as he stands up. As he reaches down to grab them, he realizes that the sleeves of his flannel have fallen far past his hands. He goes to pull them back and falls back onto the bed with a scream. He screams again when he hears his own voice and promptly falls off the bed.

These are not his hands. That is not his voice. He scrambles to his feet and grabs at his shirt and looks down at himself. That’s…not his body.

He runs to the bathroom, trips over his feet just twice on the way, and nearly faints when he looks in the mirror.

His face has softened, his skin smooth and unblemished, his freckles more pronounced than they’ve ever been. His nose is much smaller, his cheeks rounder, his ears pressed back instead of sticking out. The only things that look exactly the same on his face are his mouth and eyes.

He steps back against the wall so he can see more of himself in the mirror, and he strips down to his boxers and stares.

Yep, definitely a woman. Shit.

Sam, need to call Sam. Can’t do this without Sam.

A woman answers Sam’s phone.

“God fucking damn it, Sammy, did it happen to you, too?” His own voice is still deep and gruff, but definitely female.

“You kidding me? We’re on the same case?”

It’s weird how Sam’s voice still sounds just like him except, well, girly. “Where are you? Come to my motel.”

“Ugh, fine. We need new clothes though.”

“Yeah, you _think?_ I’m like 5-foot-nothing.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“I just really want to know what you look like.”

“Well haul ass over here then.”

While Dean waits for Sam to show up, he decides to check out this new body he’s in. His breasts are decently sized, maybe a C-cup, and he gets entranced in front of the mirror just squeezing them and pushing them together and shit. Boobs are fucking awesome.

His waist is pretty much the same width as his shoulders, but despite his lack of curves his ass still looks like it knows how to fill out a pair of jeans. His stomach pokes out just a little (that’s nothing new) and is softer than before, and his arms are thick with little muscle definition (also not new). He’s checking out the cellulite on his legs when there’s a knock on the door.

Sammy is breathtaking. He’s 6 feet tall and thin, flat-chested and broad-shouldered. His eyes are bigger, the lines of his face less intense, and his hair falls in a gentle curve down past his shoulders. He clearly bought clothes on his way over because his jeans and button down actually fit him.

“How come your hair stayed the same?” is the first thing he asks Dean as he walks in the room.

“I don’t know. This is weird.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“We’re pretty hot girls though, huh?”

Sam rolls his eyes and takes a seat at the table near the window. “You got here yesterday, right? And woke up in your current body this morning?”

“Yeah. You, too?”

“Yep. It’s definitely a spell, but the problem is figuring out how to reverse it.”

Dean pulls at the collar of his oversized t-shirt and stares down at his own breasts.

“Dean.”

“Hmm? Yeah, um, sorry.” He crosses his arms. “It’s affecting the whole town, right? I mean, it makes sense for the way the people around here are acting.”

“I didn’t really get to talk to that many people, are you sure?”

“Um, yes. Absolutely. How did you _not_ notice?”

“Hey, remember that time you drove past a ‘Welcome to Virginia’ sign and asked when we had left Tennessee?”

“Shut up.”

“So the people are acting weird. It’s probably affecting the whole town. I mean, there’s only like 12,000 people here. It wouldn’t be difficult for a big coven to cast a gender swap spell over that many people.” Sam focuses on his computer screen and types loudly. His nails must be longer now.

“And it happens overnight somehow.” Dean shifts on his bed and crosses his legs. It’s a lot more comfortable than usual. “Another question is why are these people not freaking out? I’m freaking out.”

Sam has no answer to that, so they start hashing out everything they’ve already discovered from talking to people and investigating yesterday. When they’re ready to go, Dean asks for Sam’s duffel bag and before Sam can wonder what for, Dean pulls out a flannel and goes to the bathroom. It takes him a few minutes, but he eventually figures out the best way to wear it like a dress without it looking too ridiculous. The only problem is his shoes, but luckily Sam bought an extra pair that’s only a size too big for Dean.

“You’re _really_ short,” Sam says as they walk out to the car.

“I told you. I’m like 5’3 at most—it’s ridiculous.”

They stop at a local store to get Dean some better clothes, and he tries to mask his excitement as he’s picking things out. He also tries to pick things that aren’t too _girly_ so that Sam doesn't get suspicious and start asking questions.

Something happens in the dressing room. He’s looking at himself in a pair of skinny jeans and a blue V-neck, and he feels something like arousal flare down in his lady parts. But then his throat starts to close up. His heart begins to race, sweat drips from his brow and he just _can’t breathe._ He slumps against the wall and presses his palms to his eyes.

When he was a kid, he would pretend like he was a girl sometimes. It was small stuff. Pretending like he was Sam’s mom when he made him dinner and took care of him. Hanging out with girls at recess whenever he went to school. He found a Barbie once and imagined that he was her when he played with her.

The feelings went away when he hit puberty. For the most part. It became less of an identity thing and more of a vague idea that was sometimes attractive. He’s never been confident in his masculinity. Even when he thought he was, all he had to do was look at Sam and realize he would never be as comfortable as his little brother. Gender roles are a foreign and terrifying concept to Dean.

Being in a woman’s body should be awesome. And it was at first. It felt _right._

But now, curled up on the floor of a small dressing room, Dean feels more lost about who he is than he ever has before.

“Dean?” Sam calls from right outside the door.

Not really thinking, Dean unhooks the lock before falling back against the wall. Sam rushes in, locks the door behind him, and kneels on the floor in front of him.

“Dean…”

“We have to find these fucking witches, Sammy.”

Sam leans up against the wall next to him and pulls him into his arms. Even though it’s not _really_ his brother’s body, it still comforts him. “We will, Dean. You’ll be yourself again soon.”

“I don’t—I’m not—I…”

“I know. You don’t have to say it.”

“Rhonda Hurley.”

“What?”

“Rhonda Hurley. She made me act like a girl, and I liked it. And then I hated myself.”

“Oh.”

They sit in silence until an employee knocks and asks if everything is OK. Dean buys the clothes and puts them on immediately. It’s fine.

They don’t find the witches that day. Dean stays up all night because he’s too afraid of what kind of nightmares he could have in this body. He refuses to look in the mirror when he wakes up and hasn’t been changed back.

The witches are so powerful because they are also Leviathan. It was the mayor of the town and her whole family. When Sam and Dean find them in their home, they don’t even try to put up a fight. They sit calmly and explain that they were _bored_ and just wanted to see what would happen if everybody just suddenly switched genders one day.

“Really interesting, actually. Everybody panicked individually, but once they saw that all of their friends—really gross, by the way, how everybody knows _everybody_ in these small towns—their friends were switched, too, they just decided to go with it. And when new people show up in town, they don’t say anything because they know people won’t believe them,” the mayor tells them in a low Southern drawl.

“OK, you had your fun, now change everything back,” Dean spits. He briefly dwells on the fact that he sounds more intimidating with a woman’s voice.

“Fine.” The woman snaps her fingers, and the buttons on Dean’s shirt and jeans pop off. He scrambles out of his shoes and rubs his aching feet as his clothes rip and tear until he’s practically naked.

It feels amazing to be back in his own body.

And…now he knows. He knows that physically speaking, he is who he’s supposed to be.

Fucking witches, man.

 

* * *

 

“You didn’t kill them?”

“They were _witches,_ Bobby. Leviathan witches. We would’ve been dead before we could get the soap out.”

“Fine. I’m keeping my eye on that town, though.”

“All right, you do that.” Dean hangs up and tosses his phone onto the seat.

“Dean.”

“Sam. I’m not talking about it.”

Sam adjusts in the passenger seat and looks out the window. “I get why you did it. Amy, I mean. If I hadn’t known her, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“So you don’t want to break my face anymore?”

“No. But Dean, you can’t just look me in the face and tell me you’re fine. You’re not sleeping, you drink for the record—”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Sam. I’m—I’m having a hard time since Cas, and with you…and—you know?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Sam wants to tell him he’s there for him, that he’ll take care of him and carry some of the burden for him. But he can’t promise that. Not while his brain is broken.

 

* * *

 

Dean hasn’t been _this_ high since…

Shit, who even knows. Excepting that one time with Lisa, Dean hasn’t smoked or snorted anything since the late '90s.

And he just got high off a _sandwich._ Life is amazing.

It’s the first time he doesn’t give a shit about anything ever. First time _ever._

Dean sleeps for 15 hours.

When he wakes up, it feels like a truck ran over him. He pours whiskey in his coffee and drinks 20 cups. At the bottom of his twenty-first, Bobby decides to try to have a heart-to-heart with him.

“Bobby, I’m here, OK? I’m on the case. What’s the problem?”

“I've seen a lot of hunters live and die. You're starting to talk like one of the dead ones, Dean.”

“No, I'm talking the way a person talks when they've had it, when they can't figure out why they used to think all this mattered.”

“Oh, you poor, sorry...You're not a person.”

“Thanks.”

“Come on, now. You tried to hang it up and be a person with Lisa and Ben. And now here you are with a mean old coot and a van full of guns. That ain't person behavior, son. You're a hunter, meaning you're whatever the job you're doing today. Now, you get a case of the Anne Sextons, something's going to come up behind you and rip your fool head off. You find your reasons to get back in the game. I don't care if it's love or spite or a 10-dollar bet. I've been to enough funerals. I mean it. You die before me, and I'll kill you.”

Dean finishes his coffee and crushes the cup. “Yeah, well, all my reasons are dead or dying.”

It’s the last conversation they have.

Dick Roman shoots Bobby in the head.

“Idjits” is Bobby’s last word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referenced verses:
> 
> [Job 3:7-8](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=job+3%3A7-8&version=NKJV)  
> [Job 41:1-3](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=job+41%3A1-3&version=NIV)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second half of season 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's about as drunk and borderline suicidal in this chapter as he is on the show in season 7.

The next three weeks is a lot of staring at walls.

First Cas, now Bobby. It’s too much.

It’s also the first time probably ever in their lives that they have the time to grieve. Which basically means they sit around plotting their revenge, drinking until they can’t feel anything and then staring at the ceiling as they pretend to sleep every night. Sam might be a little better about his process than Dean, but not by much. Dean clings to Bobby’s old flask the way he clings to Cas’ trench coat. Maybe if he holds on tight enough, they’ll both come back.

Three weeks, and then they’re working again.

Krissy Chambers is way tougher than Dean was at 14. She asks impossible questions, and Dean skirts around the answers and pretty much just blows her off. Switching into dad mode is a lot harder than it used to be, especially now that he’s out of practice. He doesn’t have the energy for this.

But the girl’s persistent, and Dean’s nothing if not a pushover. Despite his best efforts, she ends up right by his side as they try to rescue her dad and Sam. She even kills one of the vetalas.

Just two years younger than Dean was when he got his first kill.

And for some inexplicable reason, Dean decides to be hopeful about Krissy and her dad’s future. He tells the dad to quit now and raise his kid properly, and then Krissy says she’s going to go ahead and retire. Good.

Dean thinks about Ben. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t feel bad about erasing his and Lisa’s memories. But in order to live with himself, he has to believe it was a better decision than dragging his—his son into this life.

 

Chronos, a god of time, is a lot more terrifying at time travel than Castiel is—was.

Dean feels like he’s been sucked through a garbage disposal and then suddenly he’s standing in the middle of the street with his gun out and police are yelling him down.

It’s not as easy to flirt his way out of a police station full of male cops in the 1940s as it is in the 2000s.

They bring in a mysterious guy in a funny hat, and Dean decides to fuck it and tell the truth. The guy doesn’t think he’s crazy.

“You believe me. Are you...? You're a hunter.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Demons, ghosts, shifters. Hey, I've killed them all. And you're the same. Just 68 years before me, huh?”

The man exhales sharply, and that’s all the confirmation Dean needs. “And your name is...?”

“Dean Winchester.” They shake hands.

“Ness. Eliot Ness.”

OK, all right, stay cool. It’s cool. No big deal.

 _Shit,_ this is cool.

_No flirting. Absolutely no flirting. Dean Winchester, this is Eliot Ness of the Untouchables and you are absolutely not going to—_

“So, you think this is fate?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, us working on the same case in different centuries, and somehow we’re brought together…I like to think things happen for a reason.” Dean moves around the interrogation table and leans back onto it so Ness can get the full picture.

“Yes, I agree. Perhaps the only way to catch this thing is if we work together. So time travel, is that something that’s common in the future?”

Great. That went well. Dean stands and paces as he and Ness talk about the case. It’s all very straightforward and yet Dean still feels a little turned on.

Ness takes him to a tailor and Dean’s fascinated with the 1940s aesthetic. Sure, he’d probably get beaten and killed in a back alley if his queer self actually lived in this time period, but that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the attire. And yeah, OK, so maybe he has a bit of a roleplaying kink, _whatever._

The woman who helps him get some proper clothes, Ezra, is like a carbon copy of Bobby. Instead of being sad about that, Dean finds himself feeling comforted and nostalgic. Then she kisses him and it’s just weird. No need to think about what it would be like to kiss Bobby, no thanks, no sir.

Later, while they’re waiting to catch Chronos, Ness pulls out a flask and drinks generously from it. For some reason, Dean’s surprised by this. Disappointed? Like he doesn’t want one of his heroes to be anything like himself.

“So, now, who died in your life and made you a hunter?”

“Who died? Nobody died, you morbid son of a bitch. I started doing this because vampires were turning folks in Cleveland.”

“And you got the bug.”

“That's when I got the bug. Sometimes you just want to punch through the red tape with a silver bullet. Yeah, hunting sets me free. Isn't that why you hunt?”

Dean’s not sure he’s ever even felt “the bug.” “I used to do it because that's what my family did. But they just seem to keep dying. To tell you the truth, I don't know why I'm doing much of anything anymore.”

“Boo-hoo. Cry me a river, you Nancy. Tell me, are all hunters as soft as you in the future?”

Nancy? Did he just— _shit,_ he thinks Dean's gay. So the flirting _was_ obvious, then. “I—what? I’m not—”

“Everybody loses everybody. And then one day, boom. Your number's up, but at least you're making a difference. So enjoy it while it lasts, kid, because hunting's the only clarity you're going to find in this life. And that makes you luckier than most.”

Clarity? Like how right is right and wrong is wrong and that’s it? As far as Dean’s concerned, he hasn’t believed that hogwash since he got out of hell and became terrified of the word _righteous._

He’ll be glad when this case is over and he’s back in his slightly more progressive present where his only issue is ancient people-eating sea monsters taking over the world.

 

Dean hasn’t been with a woman since he and Lisa broke up.

Not that he didn’t try. There was that bartender when he drank way too much, but then he got abducted by an Egyptian god so that didn’t really work out. Then there was that woman he interviewed on a case a couple months back, but she turned out to be a Leviathan that was trying to eat him. Typical.

He knows he’ll never again have the kind of mind-blowing sex like he and Lisa had, but that’s not going to stop him from trying. The bars in this town are high class, and he’s certainly not going to pass them up just because Sam wants him to help with research all night.

Lydia is superficial and immature, which would’ve been Dean’s type a few years ago. She’s familiar territory, so that makes it pretty easy to fake his way into her bed under the pretense that he’s some rich investment banker.

The second they get to her apartment, Lydia starts tearing Dean’s clothes off. He can barely keep up with the kissing, which makes him incredibly nervous for the actual sex part of this. She shoves him into walls and tosses him around, and he’s so turned on he decides not to worry about the fact that she’s way stronger than he is despite being half his size.

“You just lie back and let me do all the work, sweetie,” she says condescendingly right after throwing him onto the bed and crawling on top of him.

“Do I have a choice?” Dean asks with a laugh while she breaks the button of his pants in an attempt to rip them off as quickly as possible.

“Please, as if this isn't your choice anyway.”

Dean shrugs and latches his hands onto her hips. Yeah, she’s right.

While he’s still trying to catch his breath from being tossed around, Lydia grabs his cock in her hand (somewhat painfully) and lines herself up to sink down onto it. It reminds him so much of Lisa (except far less gentle) that he doesn’t even think about the fact that he’s not wearing a condom. She leans down and kisses him roughly, and he winces at the new angle until she sits back again, _hard,_ and he bites back a scream. She laughs, quickens the pace, and Dean closes his eyes and focuses on the signals of equal parts pain and pleasure his body is sending to his brain.

She climaxes first—or at least Dean _thinks_ she does. It was so quiet and held together that Dean’s only indication that it actually happened was her sigh of relief and loosening of limbs. Still on his back, he has to do the last bit of work to reach his own orgasm, and he doesn’t bother pulling out of her until _she_ decides they’re done.

Dean is so spent that he passes out while Lydia showers, but he still manages to wake up early enough in the morning to leave before she notices. God, he’s sore. He fights fucking monsters for a living, but one night with a kinky lady and suddenly he can’t stand up straight. Great.

While he and Sam investigate a crime scene that morning, Dean realizes that he left Bobby’s flask at Lydia’s house. Shit. That’s the only thing he has that…He has to get it back.

When he was younger, Dean would’ve been freaked out by the sight of a kid in a man or woman’s house with whom he recently had sex. But now it doesn’t really faze him.

What _does_ faze him is overhearing Lydia’s 2-year-old talk like she’s already an adult. Maybe leaving Bobby’s flask here was lucky. He decides to camp outside her house and see what he can find out.

Less than two days later, a teenage girl knocks on his door and claims he’s her father.

She asks for help.

Says she knows he doesn’t want her.

Says she was tortured and just wants something normal for a while.

Dean believes her.

For all of five seconds.

Then he has a gun pointed at her.

“I was told you'd be a challenge.”

“I figured you'd chat me up, try and catch me off guard. Almost worked. I was expecting your mother.”

“It's not her place. _I_ have to kill you.”

“Is that what they told you?”

“It's what I am.”

“Well, then, I should just kill you right now.” Black and white.

“Sure. But you could have done that 30 seconds ago. It’s weirdly hard, isn’t it? It is for me.”

No, no. Not real. “Knock it off.”

“How could it not be? You’re my father.”

“Hey! We’re not going to do that.” Dean’s surprised at how steady his voice sounds. He wishes he would just wake up from this nightmare.

She keeps talking, like she’s stalling. Maybe she does care?

“You haven’t killed anybody yet, Emma. Walk away. Right now. I won’t go after you.” _Please. Don’t make me kill you._

“I can’t. I don’t have a choice.”

Those are her last words before Sam bursts through the door and shoots her.

 

“What did you say to me when _I_ was the one who choked? What did you say about Amy? ‘You kill the monster!’”

“I was _going_ to!” Dean can’t believe this. He just had a _daughter_ that was trying to _kill_ him, that he had to watch _die,_ and Sam wants to have this conversation right now. God, _he’s_ the one who’s supposed to be the dick, not Sam.

“Oh, the hell you were! You think I'm an idiot?”

“What, you think _I_ am?”

“Dean, you were going to let her walk. Look, man, she was not yours. Not really.”

“Actually, she, uh, she _was,_ really. She just also happened to be a crazy man-killing monster. But, uh, hey.” Dean is _really_ not having this conversation.

“You know what? Bobby was right. Your head's not in it, man. When Cas died, you were wobbly, but now...”

“What, Sam? Say it. Come on, just fucking say it.” He doesn’t want Sam to say it.

“Look, Dean, the thing is, tonight…It almost got you killed. Now, I don't care how you deal. I really, really don't. But just don't—don't get killed.”

“I'll do what I can.”

“Well, what's that supposed to mean?”

“It means I'll do what I can! All right? You can shut up about it.”

He’s been suicidal before, so he knows for damn sure that this isn’t what that is. He just…doesn’t really feel like existing right now.

 

“Really, Dean? A _rainbow_ slinky?”

“Yeah. What are you going to say about it? Go ahead, I’ll bite.”

“I mean…just…could you _be_ any gayer?”

“Thanks, Chandler Bing, but yeah, in fact, I _could_ be gayer. You know, I could be, like, 100 percent gay instead of half gay.”

“Half gay.”

“Damn straight.”

“Half gay and damn straight? Is that what you’re going with now?”

“Hey, remember when you were covered in glitter and haunted by a clown less than 24 hours ago?”

“Hey, remember when you blew off a very serious case in order to get your hands on a toy that reflects your sexuality?”

“It’s a _giant_ _rainbow slinky._ Do you know how hard I worked as a kid to get one of those?”

“If by ‘worked,’ you mean attempted to steal instead of actually winning any tickets playing games you couldn’t afford, then yeah, I know.”

There’s a pause.

“Way to ruin the fun, asshole.”

 

Sam manages to hold it together for a couple more months. They go on seemingly easy hunts, but most of them turn Leviathan-related, which complicates things. It’s hard to fight sea monsters disguised as regular men and women when Sam’s head could explode at any second. That, and Dean still doesn’t see any point to all of this.

It’s a car accident that turns him in. Dean wasn’t with him, and when he gets to the hospital he has to jump through hoops to get to his brother’s room. His brother’s room on the psychiatric ward.

If Sam can’t sleep, then Dean isn’t going to sleep either. He stays up all day and all night calling people and going through old journals trying to figure out if there’s anybody— _anything—_ that could help his brother.

“Bobby, I really fucking wish you were here right now,” he says quietly. Sam thinks he’s crazy for thinking Bobby’s ghost might still be around, but Dean has to have faith in _something._ He promised Bobby that much.

Not an hour later, a journal falls off the desk and opens right to a page with a contact on it.

That’s when Dean learns about Emmanuel, the faith healer.

 

* * *

 

The man standing on his front porch appears as if he has just seen a ghost. His wide eyes squint and open again, and he looks ready to fight. But there’s something else, too. Something that makes Emmanuel unafraid of this man. He can sense that he desperately needs help.

But that’s not important right now. He can see his wife tied up inside, and he needs to tend to her first.

“That creature hurt you,” he says to her as he unties her from the chair.

“I’m OK. But, Emmanuel, they were looking for you.”

“It’s OK.” Nothing has ever hurt him before, and he doesn’t suspect anything will hurt him now. As long as his wife is safe, everything is fine. He turns to the waiting man. “I’m Emmanuel.”

The man falters, like this introduction surprises him for some reason. “Dean. I’m…Dean.”

“Thank you for protecting my wife.”

“Your wife. Right.”

The man, Dean, seems sad. Like he’s lost something. “What’s your issue?”

“My brother.”

Ah yes, family. People are always the most desperate when it comes to family. Emmanuel readily agrees to go to the hospital with Dean.

On the ride there, Dean asks about Daphne. Emmanuel does not understand why he’s interested, but he’s also not one to withhold the truth. He tells Dean the minimum amount of details necessary about how he came out of the river having no clue who he was. All he remembers is drowning. He was drowning, and then the next second he was choking and coughing up air. Somehow he had made it to shore, and Daphne was the first human to find him. They married immediately, because according to Daphne, “There’s something special in you,” and it was illegal for him to be in the United States otherwise. There was no affection between them, but they cared for one another deeply, and Daphne had promised to help Emmanuel figure out exactly who he was. So far, they had only discovered that he could help the sick. With each small miracle, he grew less confident that he would ever know the truth about himself. He needs a miracle of his own.

“So, your brother...what’s his diagnosis?”

“Well, it's not exactly medical. Someone did this to him.”

“You're angry.”

“Well, yeah. Dude broke my brother's head.”

Emmanuel gets the feeling that this dude broke more than Sam’s head. “He betrayed you, this dude. He was your friend?”

“Yeah, well, he's gone.”

“Did you kill him? I sense that you kill a lot of people.” For some reason, the intuition does not scare him.

“Honestly, I—I don't know if he is dead. I just know that this...whole thing couldn't be messier. You know, I used to be able to just shake this stuff off. You know, whatever it was. It might take me some time, but I always could. What Cas did, I just can't—I don't know why.”

Yes, there it is. He loved this Cas. “Well, it doesn't matter why.”

“Of course it matters.”

“No. You're not a machine, Dean. You're human. Your friend's name was Cas? That's an odd name.”

“Yeah, well. He was an odd guy.”

“You cared about him.”

Dean laughs humorlessly. “You say that like it’s a curse.”

“Only because you carry it like one.” Emmanuel turns so he can see Dean’s profile. “You were in love with him?”

“We’re not having this conversation, Ca—Emmanuel.”

“He was in love with you then.”

Dean doesn’t say anything.

Later, after they’ve stopped at a convenience store, Dean comes outside with a demon trailing behind him. Her face is like black smoke and skeleton decomposition combined, with six eyes on her forehead and curly blue horns for ears. Her smile stretches all the way up her sharp cheekbones on both sides, almost like her face has been split in two.

She’s beautiful.

And apparently a friend of Dean’s.

It’s a few hours of nearly silent driving before they reach the hospital. Dean and Meg speak in hushed tones, and Emmanuel gets the feeling that they are talking about him. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he tends to hear things that other humans cannot.

“I gather we know each other,” he finally interrupts.

“Just a dollop,” Meg says.

“You can tell me. I’ll be fine.” Nothing has hurt him before.

“How do you know? You’ve just met yourself. I’ve known you for years.”

Oh. There’s a lot in that simple phrase. _Oh._

“You’re an angel,” Meg cuts in.

“I’m sorry? Is that a flirtation?”

“No, it’s a species. A very powerful one.”

“She's not lying. OK? That's why you heal people. You don't eat. I'm sure there's more.”

“Why wouldn't you tell me? Being an angel—it sounds pleasant.”

“It's not, trust me. It's bloody, it's corrupt. It's not pleasant.”

Meg says, “He would know. You used to fight together. Bestest friends, actually.”

“We're friends? Am I Cas? I—I had no idea. I don't remember you. I'm sorry.” He wishes, very much so, he wishes that he remembered Dean. Then maybe he could understand the pain and longing in his eyes.

The best he can do is try to get past all the demons blocking the entrance to the hospital. He might not remember how to use his power, but hopefully it will come back to him. He trusts Dean that it will.

It feels silly to place his palm on the ugly, zero-eyed forehead of the first demon, but it was the first thing that came to his mind and it seems to be working. There’s a bright light, a tingly sensation in his fingertips, and then the demon smokes up into nothing, his human vessel dead on the ground.

Memories surface. They move so quickly it is difficult to keep track, but he knows it all makes sense somehow. He is very, very old. The memories of heaven, other angels, humans he has interacted with or watched, stories he has been a part of, civilizations and technologies he has seen emerge and destroyed, wars fought, evolution progressing—everything passes in a matter of moments. But then the memories get to _Dean,_ and it all comes to a stand still.

“I remember you,” Castiel says once every demon is dead. “I remember everything.”

 

* * *

 

Dean heaves a sigh of relief. _Cas._ He wants to grab him, kiss him, hold him and never let him out of his sight again.

Bobby’s words ring in his ears. _You find your reason to get back in the game._

“What I did. What I became. Why didn’t you tell me?” Cas asks.

“Because Sam is dying in there.”

“Because of me. Everything. All of these people. I shouldn’t be here.”

“Cas. Cas!” No, no, no, he can’t do this. He can’t walk away, not _now._ Not when Dean needs him. Not when he _just_ got him back.

“If you remember, then you know you did the best you could at the time,” Dean says once he’s caught up with Cas again. He actually believes himself.

“Don’t defend me. Do you have any idea of the death toll in heaven? On earth?” Cas turns to him, and he looks broken. “We didn’t part friends, Dean.”

“So what?” That can all change now. It can go back—back to the way it was.

“I _deserved_ to die. Now I can’t possibly fix it. So why even walk out of that river?”

“Maybe to fix it. Wait.”

Dean pops his trunk open and digs around for a second until he finds it. Castiel’s trench coat, dry and clean now. Dean doesn’t know why he’s kept it all this time, transferring it from one trunk to another and taking care of it and cradling it like something special. No, scratch that. He knows _exactly_ why he’s kept it all this time. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears when Cas takes the coat. They stare at each other for several seconds, neither of them having any idea what to say, and then Cas steps forward and Dean meets him in the middle and they hug so hard it hurts, but it’s everything Dean needs right now. He buries his face in Cas’ shoulder, and Cas copies the movement. Dean can feel Cas’ fingers curling into the back of his jacket, holding him in place.

“I missed you so much, dude,” Dean admits.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Dean. I’m—I don’t—”

“Shh, it’s OK. It’s all right.”

They go to Sam. Cas says there is nothing left of the wall in his mind to rebuild. There is no helping him.

Dean feels his own walls crumbling down around him. But then—

“I might be able to shift it.”

“Shift?”

Within 10 seconds, Sam is grasping at Dean in recognition and Cas is backing against a wall in terror.

He shifted the mental anguish onto himself. Stupid selfless son of a bitch.

Dean would be pissed, disappointed, all kinds of messed up. Except he’s got Sammy back, and he’ll never be able to properly thank Cas for that.

_You find your reason to get back in the game._

 

Clinging to his loved ones’ memories apparently works like a magic trick for Dean.

Bobby stayed attached to the flask Dean’s been drinking out of for the past several months.

Dean is angry. He should’ve moved on. He shouldn’t be here. They—they grieved him, and now? Now they’re going to have to _kill_ him and—

Then they’ll have to grieve him again. Dean doesn’t want to wait around for him to turn vengeful, but then again he doesn’t really want to kill Bobby while he’s innocent.

What a fucked up world they live in.

 

* * *

 

She should’ve taken the job at Google. She wouldn’t be in this stupid mess if she had _just_ —no, there’s no going back now. What’s that thing Aslan says in _Narnia?_ Something about not dwelling on things that _could have happened._ Sure, the religious overtones were a little much, but the point still stands. Suck it up, Charlie. No going back.

“Security system—can you get into that?” Dean asks from right behind her, and Charlie tries not to act intimidated by the proximity of this large scary man who has probably killed people before.

“I can reroute any surveillance cameras we need.”

“All right, let’s start with that.”

Gosh, this is so bad. This is so illegal. Not that she hasn’t done plenty of illegal stuff in her life before, but this is like…life or death. But then again, it might be life or death if she _doesn’t_ do this. These guys might be insane, or they might be totally right. Charlie doesn’t really have a choice but to trust them. In the back of her mind, she hears a heroic voice claiming, _You’re the only one who can do this,_ and that’s really all the confidence she needs.

“Charlie, it’s Dean,” she hears in her ear as she’s singing outside of her workplace. “Are you singing?”

“I sing when I’m nervous. Don’t judge me.”

“Judgment free zone.”

They tell her what to do through the earpiece, but when she tries to move she finds that she can’t. It’s Sam who comes through and gives her a pep talk that gets her in the building. Maybe these guys aren’t so bad.

“I’m in. I’ve always wanted to say that.”

“You’re on the clock. Move,” Dean says sternly.

What a hard ass. “Hey, there’s a big-ass guard up here blocking the entrance. What do I do?”

“Just wait him out.” Dean again.

“He’s not going anywhere. What was that you just said about being on the clock?”

“OK, uh, you work there every day. Do you know the guy?”

“I guess. I mean, I've seen him. I've never talked to him.”

“OK, when you've seen him, does he look at you, or does he just kind of slide his eyes by?”

“Um, eye contact? I don't know. He always kind of smiles a bit. I don't really—”

“Good. What you're going to do is you're going to walk right up to him, and you're going to flirt your way past.”

Fucking hell. “I can't. He's not my type.”

“You're going to have to play through that.”

“As in he's not a girl.”

“Oh. Oh. Pretend he has boobs.”

Before Charlie can respond, she hears Sam’s muffled voice say, “ _Really,_ Dean? This is supposed to be your area of expertise, you jackass.”

“Hey, fuck you. Sorry, Charlie. My brother’s a dick. All right, um, I’m going to walk you through this.”

“What?”

“Just trust me. You ready?”

Charlie stares over at the security guard and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, shoot.”

“Start with a smile.”

She tries.

“Relax, Charlie. You just got home, and Scarlett Johansson’s waiting for you.”

All right, that could work. Sure.

“OK, make sure you get close enough to read his nametag so he thinks you actually know him. And just say whatever I say, all right?”

“Say whatever you say, got it.”

“Can I help you, miss?” the guy asks.

“Hey…Bill. Charlie, from I.T.”

“Oh. Burning the midnight oil, huh?”

“Just like you—I mean, when you’re not at the gym. What, do you work out with all of your free time?” Dean says, and Charlie copies it verbatim.

It goes on like this, Charlie only screwing up _really_ bad a couple of times, but after a quick exchange she’s on her way over to Dick Roman’s office.

“I feel dirty.”

“You get used to it after a while,” Dean says like he’s some hardened old war hero.

“What, fake flirting with security guards to get what you want? You have a lot of experience in that department, Dean?”

“Well, most of the time it’s not _fake,_ but yeah, pretty much.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Yep.”

“The eagle is landing. Going radio silent.”

“Let us know when you’re out.”

The plan almost all goes to shit. Bill almost catches her, she almost doesn’t get the files she needs, she almost doesn’t make it out of there alive.

Almost.

It gets worse from there. In the next 24 hours, Charlie watches her life flash before her eyes upwards of five or six times. She plants a bomb on Dick. Gets locked in the building. Nearly gets eaten by Leviathan.

But then Sam and Dean show up, and they’re just as terrifyingly badass as she suspected. Yeah, she picked the right team.

She passes out in the back of the van. Wakes up in a hospital. Apparently amidst all the adrenaline she didn’t realize she broke her arm. Sam is sitting in the chair next to her bed.

“You’ll be able to get out of here in an hour, I promise,” Sam says.

“Good. Get me as far away from here as possible.”

“Look, Charlie—”

“No, I know. You’re sorry you dragged me into this. It’s OK. I’m going to drag myself back _out_ of it.”

“Yeah.” Sam stands. “Um, whenever you’re ready we’ll take you to the bus station or something.”

It’s a quiet ride in the car, and Charlie senses that there might be more going on than she knows. As curious as she is, she decides she’s had enough adventure for, well, a lifetime.

“So listen, um, we can’t thank you enough,” Sam starts as they’re saying their goodbyes.

“Actually, you can. Never contact me again, like, ever. Deal?” She shakes both their hands.

“Deal,” Sam agrees.

“Keep your head down out there, OK?”

Gosh, what is this? Is Dean her dad or something? “This ain’t the first time I’ve disappeared. You think my name is really Charlie Bradbury? Please. So good luck saving the world. Peace out, bitches.”

 

* * *

 

“She’s kind of like the little sister I never wanted.”

“I don’t know, man. She could’ve been good for you.”

“How do you mean?”

“You don’t really, um, have a lot of friends. Especially LGBTQ friends.”

Dean watches thoughtfully as the bus takes off. “Yeah…oh well.”

 

* * *

 

The thing they stole from Dick Roman is a large chunk of clay.

When they break it open, a series of events happens. First, a tablet is revealed.

Second, Castiel wakes up.

He’s…not all there, so to speak. Sam is taken aback by Cas’ behavior, because his own mental breakdown was so much different. Whereas there was only pain and tiredness in his own eyes, in Cas’ there is an empty void. Sam finds himself sneaking glances at Dean while they talk to Cas, because he needs to make sure that Dean is not falling apart over this. So far, he just looks a bit disappointed. He's holding it together. Somehow.

The third thing that happens is that a young Asian kid steals the tablet.

Before they know it, they’re hanging out at Rufus’ cabin with the Word of God written in stone and a nervous prophet of the Lord claiming there’s no way he can translate it.

And to top it all off they’re fairly certain Bobby is going vengeful.

 

* * *

Dean is making a supply run when it happens. He comes out of the gas station and right there on the roof—the actual _roof—_ of his car is Castiel, naked and covered in bees. There is honey in his hair, a few minor stings on his face—but other than that it appears as if the bees are well behaved. There are at least a hundred of them buzzing around and clinging to Cas’ bare skin like he’s their hive or something.

Once Dean has fully processed this sight, he races over to the car and quickly throws his jacket over Cas’ body. The bees get angry, but he doesn’t care.

“Cas! You’re going to get us—”

“Hey! What the hell’s going on out here?” a very large man yells as he storms out of the gas station.

“Sorry! We’re just, uh, I’m going to—”

“Oh my god. You’re him, you’re that guy. You’re the guy on the news! They said you were dead! You and your brother.”

Shit shit fuck shit. “No! Um, no, that wasn’t—”

“Yeah, that’s totally the guy!” a lady calls from where she’s pumping gas.

“And that other guy’s naked!” someone else joins in.

“I’m calling the police!” First guy again.

“Don’t like conflict,” Cas states before pressing a bee-covered hand to Dean’s forehead.

They’re back at Rufus’ cabin. So much for that stolen car he was driving.

“ _Cas, get some fucking clothes on.”_

Dean can’t stand to look at him wearing only his army jacket—hanging wide open and barely covering the tops of his thighs—and nothing else. Cas says, “OK, Dean,” and disappears again.

What a blast.

 

They try to summon Crowley, and instead there’s a knock on the door from Meg.

“I was laying low halfway across the world when emo boy pops up out of nowhere and zaps me right back here.”

“Why?”

“Go ask him. He was your boyfriend first.”

It takes a lot out of Dean to talk to Cas when he’s in this state, but he really doesn’t have a choice. The guy is his—his friend or whatever, even when he’s not really the easiest angel to communicate with. The last time they tried to talk, Dean threw a game of Sorry on the floor and tried not to scream as Cas knelt pathetically to pick it up.  _You're not sorry, you're playing sorry._

Again, he gets almost nowhere with him, and he goes back to the cabin feeling more frustrated than before.

 

“Hey, shifty, what’s your problem?”

“Do we need a cat? Doesn’t this place feel one species short?”

If he didn’t care about the damn angel, Dean’s patience would’ve run dry hours ago. “You got anything to say on the topic of Dicks? Crowley was pretty sure that you could help.”

“I can't help. You understand? I can't. I destroyed...everything, and I will destroy everything again. Can we please just leave it at that?”

All right, that’s it. “No. No, we can't.”

Sam tries to stop him. Dean ignores him.

“We can't leave it. You let these fucking things in. So you don't get to make a sandwich. You don't get a damn cat. Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas. Clean up your mess!”

He doesn’t really mean it. Of course he cares that Cas is broken. But he’s scared, and when he’s scared he says stupid things he doesn’t mean. Things he believes about himself that he projects onto other people. Sam enlightened him about this quality of his years ago. Doesn't mean he's gotten any better about it.

Cas walks over to Dean deliberately and stands way too close to be comfortable. Dean holds his breath hoping the angel doesn’t do something stupid in front of all of these people.

“You know…we should play Twister.” He disappears.

Dean breathes.

“Nice. You scared off the Empire’s only hope. It ever occur to you that every one of those things was in Cas? He knows them. He can see past the meat suits.”

Oh. Right. They could figure out who the real Dick Roman is and blow his fucking head off as long as Cas is there guiding them.

He and Sam try to do it on their own, try to discern which of the carbon copies of Dick Roman is actually Waldo. While they talk, Bobby shows up.

“What’s it feel like?” It’s a childish question, Dean knows, but he doesn’t care at this point.

“What? Going vengeful? It's an itch you can't scratch out. Look, I'm done. Go get Dick. But don't do it because you think it'll scratch the itch. Do it because it's the job. And when it's your time, _go.”_

There’s nothing else really left to say. Dean wants to tell Bobby thanks for being a better father than his own dad ever was, thanks for helping him not be as fucked up as he _could_ have been, thanks for believing him, for loving him, for wanting what’s best for him…

Instead they just share a sad stare before Dean takes the flask and burns it. Two hunter’s funerals for Bobby. Twice they’ve had to say goodbye. It doesn’t get easier.

Sam and Dean don’t say anything to each other for a long time. Dean drinks until he’s numb, and then he drinks some more.

Finally, Sam says, “You have to go talk to Cas.”

“Why.”

“You know why. You care about the guy, so go talk to him. Also, we need him and you know it.”

Dean downs the rest of his whiskey and slams the glass on the table.

He finds Cas playing Uno and convinces him that he needs a wingman for a small errand.

“Thanks for the lift,” Dean says once they’ve arrived outside of Sucrocorp.

“My pleasure. Dean…”

“Cas, we’ve been over it. I get it—you can’t help.”

“If we attack Dick and fail, then you and Sam die heroically, correct?”

“I don't know. I guess.”

“And at best, I die trying to fix my own stupid mistake. Or I _don't_ die—I'm brought back again. I see now. It's a punishment resurrection. It's worse every time.”

“I'm sorry. Uh, we're talking about God crap, right?”

“I'm not good luck, Dean.”

Right, like that’s what this has _ever_ been about. “Yeah, but you know what? Bottom of the ninth, and you're the only guy left on the bench...Sorry, but I'd rather have you, cursed or not. And anyway, nut up, all right? We're all cursed. I seem like good luck to you?”

Cas stares at him, and there’s something in his features—something like affection.

“What?” Dean asks.

“Well, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I detect a note of forgiveness.”

He forgave Cas the moment he handed him his trench coat back. “Yeah, well, I'm probably going to die tomorrow, so...”

“Well, I'll go with you. And I'll do my best.”

Dean wants to kiss him, as usual, but everything’s still broken and he’s not going to spend his last night on earth taking advantage of his angel. Especially not after the amount of times he’s lost his temper in front of him the past few days. It’s not fair to Cas.

“So…can I ask the plan?” Cas asks, and it’s so damn endearing that Dean has to look away. God, he’s in deep.

“Well, according to Crowley, Dick knows we’re coming. So we’re going to announce ourselves big, starting with Meg driving through the front gates in the Impala and killing every Leviathan in her way.”

“That sounds like something Meg would be excellent at.”

Dean ignores the pang of jealousy in his chest. Stupid. “Yeah, so, uh, you and me are going to sneak in and try to find the real Dick.”

“For you, Dean, of course.”

It takes less than an hour for the plan to work.

Cas pulls Dick’s head back and Dean shoves a blood-covered bone through his neck.

Then everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

“Where’s Dean?”

“That bone...has a bit of a kick. God weapons often do. They should put a warning on the box.”

“Where are they, Crowley?”

“Can't help you, Sam.”

Crowley snaps his fingers and two demons take hold of Kevin. “Sorry, Sam, prophet’s mine. You got what you wanted. Dick’s dead, saved the world. So I want one little prophet. Sorry, moose. Wish I could help. You certainly got a lot on your plate right now. It looks like you are well and truly…on your own.”

No.

He had just—everything had just started to—to go back to normal.

They had gotten Bobby back, and Cas back, and his brain wasn’t on fire anymore.

And now.

No.

 

 _In that day, the_ _Lord_ _will punish with his sword—his fierce, great and powerful sword—_ _  
Leviathan the gliding serpent, Leviathan the coiling serpent; he will slay the monster of the[sea.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=isaiah+27%3A1&version=NIV)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referenced verse:
> 
> [Isaiah 27:1](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=isaiah+27%3A1&version=NIV)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First seven episodes of season 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some minimal Dean/Benny...which will continue for the next few chapters, so this will probably be the only warning.

It might be the worst phone call Sam has ever received in his life.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“It’s—it’s Dean, Sammy. I’m…back.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?” He hopes it’s a trick.

“Just fucking come to Rufus’ cabin already, geez. I want to see you.”

“Oh—OK. Um, it’ll take me a few hours…”

“Yeah. I’ll wait.”

Sam rolls over and looks at the clock. 4:12 a.m. He groans and flips back over so he can place his hand on Amelia’s arm and kiss her bare shoulder until she wakes up.

“Somebody better be dying for you to wake me up this early,” she mumbles, still facing away from him.

“Opposite, actually. Remember the brother I told you about?”

That gets her attention enough for her to flip over and give him a hard stare. “Sam, please don’t say what I think you’re about to say.”

“I have to, um, I have to go. He’s—he’s my brother, and I think he might be alive, and…”

“You told me he…”

“I lied.” He cups her face and strokes his thumb across her cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s—it’s all right. Just, um—call me, OK?”

Sam nods and looks down at the space between them. He hates this. With a sharp movement, he leans over to kiss her forehead before climbing out of bed and retrieving his clothes. He makes sure to pet the dog before he goes. He’s going to miss both of them.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to see his brother. Of course he’s ecstatic to hear his voice again, to see him again. But this time was different. After they took down Dick, Sam had spent five days just driving. He ran out of gas four different times and sat on the side of the road staring at nothing until he'd pass out from exhaustion. He was numb. Fucked up. There wasn't a clear thought in his head. Looking back now, he's pretty sure that if somebody had mentioned Dean's name to him, his response would've been, "Who?"

He supposes it was better than the last hundred or so times that Dean has died. He didn't turn into a ruthless murderer. He didn't drink himself to death and try to sell his soul. He didn't even have it in him to try to figure out where Dean was, figure out how to save him. He barely even—he could barely keep _himself_ alive. So eventually he just...moved on.

That’s what he told himself at least.

“You were in purgatory? For the whole year?”

“Yeah, time flies when you’re running for your life.”

“What about Cas? Was he there?”

Dean starts to pace, which means he feels like he failed. “Yeah, Cas didn’t make it.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“Something happened to him down there. Things got pretty hairy towards the end, and he just let go.”

“So Cas is dead? You saw him die?”

“I saw enough.”

“So, then what, you're not sure?”

Dean turns back to glare at Sam. “I said I saw enough, Sam.”

That’s the end of _that_ conversation. Sam makes a mental note not to bring up what happened with Cas again. Even if and when Dean takes his guilt out on him. “Right. Dean, I'm sorry.”

Dean asks why his phones are all out of service, and Sam has to suck it up and tell him he doesn’t hunt anymore. It’s incredibly nerve-racking.

“So you just turned tail on the family business.”

“Nothing says ‘family’ quite like the whole family being dead.”

“I wasn't dead. In fact, I was knee-deep in God's armpit killing monsters, which, I thought, is what we actually do.”

“Yes, Dean. And far as I knew, what we do is the thing that got every single member of my family killed. I had no one— _no one_. And for the first time in my life, I was completely alone. And, honestly, I—I didn't exactly have a road map. So, yeah, I fixed up the Impala, and I just...drove.”

“After you looked for me. Did you look for me, Sam? Good. That's good. Now, we—we always told each other _not_ to look for each other. That's smart. Good for you. Of course, we always ignored that because of our deep, abiding love for each another, but not this time, right, Sammy?”

“Look, I'm still the same guy, Dean.”

“Well, bully for you. I'm not.”

_Yeah, you’re even more self-righteous and insecure than you were before._

This isn’t the reunion he wanted. He didn’t want a reunion at all. As far as Sam was concerned, he had buried his brother. They’ve said goodbye and resurrected too many people in their lives. Hell, Sam has watched his brother die and come back to life more times than he can count. He just—he can’t take it anymore.

He misses Amelia.

“He was _our_ responsibility, and you couldn’t answer the goddamn phone,” Dean chastises after playing message after message of Kevin Tran pleading for Sam’s help over the past year.

Yeah, so he fucked up. He barely knew the kid at all, and the thought of clawing his way through Crowley and all of his demons so he could protect the prophet of the Lord when he could barely even take care of himself...Part of him wonders if he wants to help Kevin _now_ just so he doesn’t feel like such a failure in his brother’s eyes. Does he actually care about the kid, or does he care about Dean’s approval? No, he doesn’t actually want to know the answer to that question.

It takes them a few days to find Kevin, but once they do Dean’s in a better mood. At the very least, he seems pleased that Sam tracked down the prophet so fast. And he hasn’t judged him about quitting the job for a girl in the past couple hundred miles. Sam still thinks maybe he should’ve kept that detail to himself. Dean didn't really need to know that he had been replaced.

Kevin tells them he got away from Crowley by tricking him. There’s a demon tablet he’s reading, and it taught him how to destroy the things. It hurts a little when Dean praises Kevin. The only time he’s treated Sam like that lately is when he bought him a burger without being prompted. He knows he shouldn’t be jealous of a teenager, and yet.

The real kicker is when Kevin tells them he knows how to shut the gates of hell _forever._

As they’re leaving, Dean says, “OK, if this kid is right, he's sitting on a bombshell. Hell, he _is_ the bombshell.”

Sam refrains from rolling his eyes, but Dean still notices.

“What?”

“That. I mean, there's no way that Kevin's getting out of this intact, is there?”

“Well, he's doing pretty well for himself so far.”

“Yeah, he got out.”

“And now he's in it, whether he likes it or not.”

“So...free will, that's only for you?”

“I can't believe what I'm hearing. Sam, we have an opportunity to wipe the slate clean. We take Kevin to the tablet, he tells us the spell, we send every demon back to hell— _forever._ Every single bastard that destroyed our lives, killed our mother, killed Jess. And you're not sure?”

Sam shakes his head and laughs.

“ _What?_ Quit doing that.”

“No, it’s nothing. Just—sometimes I wonder if you know how fucking ridiculous you are.”

_“Excuse me?”_

“Oh fuck off, you’re not Dad. Quit acting like I’m ‘not allowed to speak to you like this.’ You get pissed at me for getting out, for living the life you’ve apparently always wanted for me, for finding a girl I love—and then you have the fucking _nerve_ to mention _Jess?_ And to top it all off, you made an ultimatum so I’m never allowed to mention, you know, the woman _you_ went to when you quit hunting."

“Sam, I swear to God—”

“No, fuck you, Dean. I was alone and afraid and had absolutely _nothing_ and _no way_ of knowing where the hell you even _were_ , and now you show up, pull me away from my life, and make me feel guilty for something you yourself had at one point. So fuck you. Fuck your free will. I’m done trying to make you proud of me.”

It might’ve been better if Dean had fought back. Instead, his face falls, he nods in acceptance, and then he turns and heads toward the car.

And Sam immediately regrets everything he just said.

Not really knowing how to proceed from here, Sam goes back into the church to find Kevin and apologize for not helping him sooner. Before they can really have a serious heart-to-heart, Dean bursts in and tells them they have company.

Two demons follow close behind.

“Dean Winchester. Back from purgatory.”

“Spanky the demon. Yeah, I heard about you. You’re the one who uses too much teeth, right?”

Well, that’s…odd. Dean is not really the type to use sexual insults, especially against men. He’s never really been all that comfortable with his own sexuality and sexual history, so how could he use it as a weapon? If they didn’t have demons to kill and a prophet to protect, Sam would be worried about all of the things that are changed about his brother. He wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t the same man anymore.

Crowley comes and shows Kevin that his ex-girlfriend, Channing, is now a demon. He also shows him that Channing is still alive in there.

They manage to escape, and as they’re driving away from the church, they watch as the demon smokes out of Channing’s body, and Crowley snaps her neck.

Welcome back.

 

* * *

 

“Benny?”

“Hey, Dean. You, um, you got a minute? Afraid I messed up, buddy.”

“What did you do?”

“No, man, not like that. It was…revenge.”

The phone burns against Dean’s ear as he listens to his best friend describe all the vamps he stupidly decided to take on alone. He sounds bad, _really_ bad, and with each passing minute Dean feels more afraid. He needs to get to Benny. The problem is getting past Sam.

Lucky for them both, they haven’t exactly been getting along lately. All it takes for Sam to let Dean leave is a nice guilt trip.

“You took an entire year off. All I need is a day.”

He finds Benny nearly unconscious with a puddle of blood next to him.

“Benny? Not looking good.”

“Up yours.”

Dean squats down and wraps his hand around Benny’s neck so he can kiss his forehead. “Missed you, man.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m dying here, enough with the sentimentality.”

Dean helps him up and gets him inside for some blood. Benny doesn’t even say anything before he disappears into the bathroom and comes out 20 minutes later looking completely better. Dean immediately relaxes.

“I’ll be 100 percent before you know. Thank you, brother.”

“Benny, what’s going on?”

“Oh, your work here is done, Dean. You already saved the day. You know, I got my, uh, deal, and you got—what’d you call it? The family business?”

“Benny. _What’s going on?”_

Benny shakes his head and laughs affectionately. “You and your whole ‘friend’ thing, man.”

“C’mon, just tell me. I can help.” He sits on the edge of the table and gestures for Benny to sit next to him.

The vampire sighs and takes a seat before launching into a long explanation about his maker and vampirates and exactly why he needs to kill these assholes.

“Anyway, our father—he was a jealous god. He kept the family together but kept us apart from the rest of the world, always at sea. I always did what was best for the nest...until I met her. Andrea. Andrea Kormos. Beautiful. I mean, words don't even cut it, you know? Greek, heiress.”

A phantom pain burns in Dean’s chest, and he mentally rolls his eyes at it. His feelings for Benny will never be returned, so what’s the point? A good friend would help get the love of his life back. Just because Dean wishes Benny loved _him_ instead doesn’t mean he shouldn’t help him.

When Dean doesn’t say anything, Benny mumbles, “Sorry. I shouldn’t’ve…uh…”

“No, stop that. Come on, man. You know it’s not—not like that.”

Benny doesn’t answer, probably because he doesn’t want to call Dean out for lying.

It’s fun fighting with Benny again, killing monsters, teaming up to do good. When it’s all said and done, Andrea is dead and Benny…is not good. But Dean did what he had to do. It wasn’t personal.

“Why’d you do it, Dean?”

“Do what?”

“Resurrect me. You could’ve drained my soul into any culvert, and no one would have been the wiser.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Hey, you good?”

“I don’t know what I am.”

Benny drops his head into his hands, and Dean goes to him on instinct. He wraps his arms around him and rubs his back.

“Shh, it’s all right, man. I’m sorry. Sorry about Andrea.”

It’s a long moment before Benny backs up and looks at Dean for a second. “Let’s go.”

They have to take a boat back, and it’s a quiet trip until they get to the dock and see Sam waiting for them.

“I’m Benny. Heard a lot about you, Sam.” Benny introduces himself with a hand out to Sam.

Sam doesn’t respond, but instead looks to Dean for a clue about how he’s supposed to respond. Dean shakes his head.

“I can see you two have a lot to talk about.” He turns to Dean and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you later, brother.”

Sam doesn’t say anything. It’s almost worse than him yelling. He just ignores Dean until they stop at a gas station the next day and Dean breaks the silence by saying he found a case.

“You haven’t said a word since Prentiss Island, and now you want to go on a case?”

“Excuse me? You were the one giving the silent treatment.”

“Yeah, OK. Sure. Sorry for not knowing what to say when a vampire kisses my brother in front of me.”

Dean stares up at the sky and crosses his arms. “You want to talk about Benny? Fine. Let’s talk.”

“How about the fact that he’s a vampire and you’re apparently fucking him?”

“We’re not _fucking_ , you asshole. And he’s the reason I’m topside and not roasting on a spit in purgatory. Anything else?”

“Don’t pretend I don’t get it. I know you had to do what you had to do down there.”

He didn’t even sound sympathetic saying that. “I doubt you understand anything about purgatory.”

“But you’re out now, and Benny’s still breathing. Why?”

“I really have to say it?”

“What about my friend Amy? She was what? And you didn’t have a problem ganking her.”

“Well, I guess people change, don’t they? We let that werewolf Kate go.”

“She was different. She—what, Benny tell you he’s not drinking live blood and you believe him? What, just because you like him or something? Wow. You know, you’re right. People do change.”

Dean attacks the only thing he’s got. “Yeah, I’ve got a vampire buddy, and you turn your phone off for a year.”

“Don’t turn this on me, you self-righteous—”

“I’m done.” Dean gets in the car before Sam can say whatever he was about to say.

 

* * *

 

 _Mistakes? Well, let's go through some of Sammy's greatest hits. Drinking demon blood, check. Being in cahoots with Ruby. Not telling me that you lost your soul. Or how about running around with Samuel for a whole year, letting me think that you were dead while you're doing all kinds of crazy. Those aren't mistakes, Sam. Those are choices!_ I never _once betrayed you. I never once left you to die. And for what, a girl? You left me to die for a girl?_

The words ring in Sam’s ears until he can’t think anymore.

_Benny has been more of a brother to me this past year than you've ever been! That's right. Cas let me down. You let me down. The only person that hasn't let me down is Benny._

“I told you from the jump where I was coming from, why I didn't look for you. But you? You had secrets. You had Benny. And you got on your high and mighty, and you've been kicking me ever since you got back. But that's over. So move on, or I will. Own up to your bullshit, Dean.”

“OK. I hear you.”

“ _Do_ you? Or are you just saying that to get out of this conversation?”

Dean just stares at him.

“You know what? Hear this, too. I just might be that hunter that runs into Benny one day and ices him.” He’s lying. He wouldn’t kill Benny. He knows Dean loves him.

He’d never purposely hurt Dean like that.

_You left me in purgatory to rot!_

_You’ve never given a shit about me, Sam!_

Wants to make Dean proud. Wants Dean's approval. Wants Dean to love him unconditionally.

"Wants to resurrect Dean from the dead" is no longer on that list.

 

* * *

 

Things calm down for a few minutes. Well, two days to be exact. They aren’t really talking much to each other, but they’re also not fighting anymore. Things are neutral.

Dean is driving back to the cabin when he spots Cas walking on the side of the road. He would know Cas anywhere. So he slams on his breaks and turns around and—

Nobody is there.

 

* * *

 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You look like you’ve seen a—well, I was going to say you look like you’ve seen a ghost, but you’d probably be stoked. Uh, you OK?”

“Yeah, I’m cool. What’s up?”

Sam doesn’t buy it, but they aren’t on solid enough ground for him to push. So he lets Dean change the subject.

They head out the next day to check out a case of demon abductions. On their first day there, Sam’s woken up in the middle of the night when he senses that Dean’s not in the bed next to his. He rolls over and finds his brother staring out the window at the rain.

“Dean? What’s going on? Are you all right?”

“I don’t know. I just saw something.”

He sounds freaked, so Sam gets up and goes over to stand next to him. “Saw what?”

“Cas. I saw him earlier, too. I—I feel like I’m seeing him.”

“That’s…not possible. I mean, you said it yourself. You made it out and he didn’t, right?”

Dean turns away and stares down at the floor. “I tried so goddamn hard to get us the hell out of there.”

“I know you did.”

“You know, I could’ve pulled him out. I just don’t understand why he didn’t try harder.”

“Dean.” Sam moves over to him and touches his shoulder tentatively. Things still aren’t totally comfortable, but Dean needs him right now. “You did everything you could.”

Dean moves away, doesn’t accept the gesture. “Yeah, but why do I feel like shit?”

“Survivor’s guilt?”

“Hmm.”

“If you let it, this is going to keep messing with you.”

Just like it did last time. Just like it does every time. Cas dies, Dean blames himself, Dean spirals into alcoholism and suicidal tendencies. How many times does it have to happen before it becomes a pattern? Hey, maybe Sam can just blame Cas for how shitty Dean’s been acting lately. Maybe he’s acting out toward Sam because of the incredible guilt he feels over losing his best friend.

The next day, Dean pretends like nothing happened. He doesn’t bring Cas up again, and Sam doesn’t either. They talk about the case while they get ready for the day and—

“Hello, Dean.”

_“Cas.”_

Sam thinks about going over to say hi, but then there’s a deafening silence and he knows Dean and Cas are doing that thing where they stare at each other really intensely. He’s interrupted it before, and he doesn’t intend to again. But after a few minutes, they come out into the main room and Sam is surprised to see a full beard on Cas’ face. He looks stressed out, so Sam offers him a seat across from him.

“Unbelievable, man. I—I can’t believe it. You’re actually here,” Sam greets.

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to reach out, but for whatever reason I couldn’t connect with you.”

“That must’ve been why you kept seeing him. I mean, you think?” Sam says to Dean.

Dean just keeps staring like he’s not sure if he’s actually awake right now. “Yeah. Yeah, uh, I got to be honest. I—I'm thinking, how the hell did you make it out? I mean, I was there. I know that place. I know how we had to scratch and claw and kill and bleed to find that portal and make it through it, and it almost finished me. So, uh...so how exactly are you sitting here with us right now?”

“Dean, everything you just said is completely true. And that's the strange part. I...have no idea. I remember endlessly running and hiding from Leviathan, and then I was on the side of the road in Illinois. And that was it.”

“And that—that was it?”

“Yes.”

They stare at each other, and Sam worries that Dean might explode. He can tell his brother still doesn’t trust the angel, and no matter how happy he is to see him he’s not going to handle this well. He’s going to continue believing that Castiel is lying to them no matter what he says.

Cas excuses himself to clean up, and Dean takes his seat and stares into space.

“Dean?”

“Huh?”

“You all right?”

“You do see something severely wrong here, right? Sammy, I remember every second of leaving that place. I mean, I remember the—the heat, the stink, the pain, the fear. I have the whole ugly mess right up here, and he says he has no idea how he got out? I’m just not buying it.”

Cas comes out of the bathroom clean-shaven, hair wet and wearing his suit, and Sam and Dean both awkwardly straighten up to pretend like they weren’t just talking about him.

Sam looks over at Dean, and for a second all the disbelief and mistrust on Dean’s face has been replaced with awe and, well, attraction. Sure, Sam’s known for a _while_ that his brother probably has the hots for Cas, but this is…more than that. This is want, longing, possibly love. It kind of breaks Sam’s heart.

“Better?” Castiel asks with his arms stretched out.

Dean just nods and then drops his head.

Shit. He’s got it bad.

“I’m going to rest for a minute,” Cas states before plopping down on Dean’s bed and turning the television on.

Dean stares and _stares_ until finally Sam says, “Dean,” and startles the hell out of him.

 _“What?”_ Dean asks, like Sam has just interrupted something very important.

Yeah, no, this is bullshit. “Um, can I talk to you outside?”

Dean rolls his eyes but follows Sam out the door.

“What happened between you guys in purgatory?”

“What? Didn’t I just tell you that—”

“No, I mean, like, what happened _between_ you two?”

“Sammy, I have no fucking idea what you’re—”

“How long have you been in love with Cas?”

Dean clenches his jaw and turns away.

“That long, huh? Dean. Please look at me.”

Dean turns back and glares at Sam. He plants his hands on his hips and doesn’t say anything.

“You know he loves you, too, right?”

“All right, Sammy, let’s just—”

“Oh my god, you _know._ You ever going to do anything about it?”

“Please, will you just—”

“You have to do something about it. You have to tell him, Dean. _Dean,_ you have to—”

“Cas and I have been fucking since the apocalypse, you moron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starts in 5x18, goes through purgatory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was confused by the first 17 chapters, I am, in fact, deancas garbage.

_ _

 

 _ Above all else, guard your heart, _  
_ for everything you do flows [from it.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=proverbs+4%3A23&version=NIV) _

 

“I rebelled for _this?_ So that you can surrender to _them?”_

“Cas! Please!”

“I gave everything for you, and this is what you give to me?”

“Do it. Just do it!”

Castiel has not felt this kind of rage in a very long time. Dean Winchester is not the man he once was. There is no fight in his eyes, no fire in his bones. He is empty.

And yet.

That does not mean that Castiel will cease to care for him. So he reaches down and pulls Dean to his feet, and they stand and stare at each other and Castiel is not sure what is supposed to happen next.

Apparently Dean does. He grabs him by the lapels of his coat and yanks him forward until they are chest-to-chest. There is a pause before his bloody lips crash into Cas’ mouth, and nothing about it is right.

Castiel does not understand human displays of affection, and he is unsure what this gesture means to Dean. He also believes this is a completely inappropriate response under their current circumstances.

_And yet._

His mouth works independently of his brain until his tongue shoves its way into Dean’s mouth and licks around while his lips search for a better angle. He pushes Dean back against the wall again and lifts him off his feet as they kiss. Dean whines in the back of his throat, and Cas shoves him harder.

When they pull away from each other, they knock foreheads together and breathe heavily and Cas has no idea what to say. Apparently Dean doesn’t know either.

So Cas wipes his mouth, knocks him unconscious and flies back to Bobby’s house.

He is still furious with Dean.

 

* * *

 

When Dean wakes up, it’s a long time before he remembers what happened with Cas. In fact, he doesn’t even think about it until Cas pulls a box cutter out of his pocket and carves a sigil into his chest right outside of an abandoned building. Dean thinks it’s hot as fuck, but he also knows that it’s a suicide mission. And Cas is going to die thinking Dean is his biggest disappointment.

Sure, he kissed back. That doesn’t mean a damn thing.

It’s not how it was supposed to happen. Dean could tell by the look on Cas’ face that he didn’t even fully understand what was going on. He’s not familiar with physical intimacy or whatever. But the world’s ending and they’re running out of time and Dean thought for sure Cas was just going to leave him there bleeding out on the ground and when he picked him up Dean acted on impulse because—

Because he’s wanted to kiss Cas for a very long time, and that seemed like his only shot.

 

Cas calls from a hospital, and Dean’s so glad to hear his voice he almost loses it in front of Bobby and Sam.

Cas is alive, and they’re going to stop the apocalypse.

There’s a moment after Dean gets back from getting the ring from Death. A moment where Sam and Bobby are both out, Dean’s grabbing a beer from the fridge and as he turns around Cas is right there so close in his personal space they’re breathing the same air.

“Kiss me again,” he _growls_ like he’s fucking hungry for it.

Dean nods shyly, checks around to make sure nobody is watching them, and then wraps his hand gently around the back of Cas’ neck and presses their lips together.

After three or so seconds of soft kisses, Cas grabs Dean by the hips and pushes him back into the fridge to get better leverage on his mouth. Dean drops his beer and curls his hands around Cas’ lower back. He wants to grab his ass, but he’s not sure if that’s all right.

“Basement,” Cas breathes before taking Dean’s wrist and leading him downstairs.

Cas locks them inside the panic room, and Dean stifles a laugh at how ridiculous this is. Too many shitty memories have happened in this room. Hopefully they’re about to amend that.

All they do is kiss. Their clothes don’t even come off. When Cas lays Dean out on the bed and pushes down onto him, Dean notices that he’s not hard. Cas doesn’t seem to care, though. His thigh rubs up against Dean’s erection and it’s like he doesn’t even notice. Dean wonders if angels are even capable of having sex. He is starting to regret all the time he's called them "junkless."

It should be embarrassing when Cas rolls his hips one fucking time and Dean comes in his pants. But it’s not embarrassing, because Cas just looks down at the wet spot curiously before continuing to kiss the hell out of Dean.

They hear movement upstairs, and it takes Dean a couple of attempts to stop kissing Cas long enough to reason with him. Cas scowls, but then he opens the door and heads back upstairs. Dean looks down at his jeans and wonders how the hell he’s going to fix this problem.

He’s thinking of a plan to get past Bobby or Sam or whoever when he sees his duffel bag in the corner. Oh right, he was locked in here and never moved his stuff. Perfect.

 

The next time it happens, it’s Dean who initiates. Actually, he stages the whole thing. Kicks Bobby and Sam out of the house on some dead-end errand, makes up some bullshit excuse for why he has to stay back. Then as soon as he sees the car pull out onto the main road, he yells for Cas to meet him in the basement.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas asks from the doorway of the panic room.

“C’mere.”

Cas walks over confidently to where Dean is sitting on the creaky bed in the corner. Dean nods for Cas to kneel, and the angel only takes like 10 seconds to understand the social cue and obey. He awkwardly shuffles to his knees, keeps his back straight and stares up at Dean curiously.

With a smile, Dean leans down and pulls Cas’ hair back so he can kiss him. He’s surprised when he feels strong hands dig into his thighs and rub up and down their length until his cock twitches with the near contact.

When Cas growls and bites his lower lip, Dean pulls back with a gasp and tries to catch his breath. As he’s doing so, Cas comes up on his knees and reaches for Dean’s belt buckle.

“Cas, what are you—oh—oh god.”

With a much swifter movement than Dean expected, Cas yanks down his jeans and peels back his boxers. Yeah, Dean’s definitely paying attention now.

“Buddy, you don’t have to…” he starts to say, but he’s cut off by the mouth on his inner thigh.

He drops his head back against the concrete wall and sinks down so Cas can get better leverage. The angel teases him for several long seconds, licking and nipping up and down his thighs while his fingernails scratch into the sensitive skin from his knees all the way back up to his ass. Then suddenly Cas dips down and lightly sucks at his balls, and Dean nearly chokes on a gasp.

“ _Cas,_ please—I need—you got to—”

Cas’ fingernails grip hard enough to break the skin, and Dean takes that as his cue to shut the hell up. He focuses on biting his lip when Cas runs a long lick up his shaft and swirls his tongue generously around his slit. He does the same down the other side, sucks on his balls a little harder this time, repeats the pattern, then _finally,_ when Dean is squirming, Cas swallows him down until his tip hits the back of the angel’s throat. He slowly, so _goddamn slowly,_ drags his lips back up and off and then plunges immediately back down again. Eventually he gets into a steady rhythm, and right when Dean feels like he’s on the edge Cas pops off and resumes kissing and licking and not doing nearly enough.

“Goddamn it, Cas, come _on.”_

Cas stares up at him, wrathful and flushed, but then he’s back on him again, hollowing out his cheeks and giving Dean honest to God the best blow job of his entire life.

When Dean comes, Cas holds him still and sucks him dry. Then he takes his time letting him go, swallowing and then wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Without even looking at Dean, he rubs his hands up and down his bare thighs one more time and then drops his head in Dean’s lap and stops moving.

“Cas? You all right, honey?”

“Did you enjoy that, Dean?”

God, he doesn’t even sound affected. What the hell. “Um. Yes. Absolutely.”

“Good.”

“You want me to…?”

Cas acts like he doesn’t even hear him. He just gets to his feet, presses a sloppy kiss to Dean’s forehead and announces, “I’m going to go clean up. Thank you, Dean.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, uh, no problem.”

It’s the last alone time they get before the world ends.

 

* * *

 

It’s painful to watch the Winchesters fail. After Dean killed Zachariah, Castiel regained his faith in the boys. He was reminded of the man who yelled at him to do what was right, who told him he was spineless and already dead, who inspired the rebellion in Cas that cost him his life a year ago. It all happened in the very same room.

But now they are losing. They are losing, and Castiel feels so incredibly human. The world is ending, and all he has left is that he loves Dean Winchester. He has no idea if Dean loves him, too, but he is always looking at him like he wants to kiss him again. Cas feels the same.

The best Cas can do is send Michael away. He dies not knowing if Sam and Dean prevail.

 

* * *

 

A snap of fingers, and Cas is gone. Not just gone but obliterated. Again.

Dean wishes he had time to grieve.

But then Lucifer kills Bobby, too.

Dean just wants to die.

Even after Sam dumps Lucifer into the pit. Dean’s in so much pain and he can’t feel a damn thing and he’s got absolutely nothing left in the world but his goddamn car. He wants to die.

Suddenly Cas is there. He presses a gentle hand to Dean’s forehead and the physical pain dissipates. Dean wants to kiss him, but instead he stands and wraps his arms around him and cries into his shoulder.

Cas hugs back and doesn’t say anything.

He brings Bobby back, and then Dean is crying on him, too.

It’s a long drive to Lisa’s. Cas accompanies Dean.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Return to heaven I suppose. With Michael in the cage, I'm sure it's total anarchy up there.”

“So, what, you're the new sheriff in town?”

“I like that. Yeah. I suppose I am.”  
  
Dean grips the steering wheel harder. “Wow. God gives you a brand-new, shiny set of wings, and suddenly you're his bitch again.”

“I don't know what God wants. I don't know if he'll even return. It just...seems like the right thing to do.”

“Well, if you do see him, you tell him I'm coming for him next.”

Cas puts a hand on Dean’s knee, and Dean flinches. “You're angry.”

“That's an understatement.”

“He helped. Maybe even more than we realize.”

“That's easy for you to say. He brought you back. But what about Sam? What about me, huh? Where's my grand prize? All I got is my brother in a hole!” He doesn’t want to start crying again.

“You got what you asked for, Dean. No paradise. No hell. Just more of the same. I mean it, Dean. What would you rather have, peace or freedom?”

There’s not much he can say to that. He’s the one who taught Cas that, after all. “Stay with me, man.”

“I am not sure I understand.”

“Stay with me. _Be_ with me. I—”

Cas is gone.

 

Dean prays to Cas while he’s with Lisa. For the first month or so at least. It always happens at the bottom of a bottle, and Dean always regrets it in the morning. Cas never answers, thank goodness.

Sometimes Dean wonders if the reason he and Lisa don’t really have any deep, affectionate love between them is because Dean has already wasted all of that on another person. It doesn’t seem possible, though. He was with Cas for all of five minutes.

When they finally do see each other again, Cas barely even looks at him. He lies to Sam, or rather he lets Sam believe that he’s the only one whose prayers have gone unanswered. It’s probably better that way. Sam would ask questions, like what the fuck Dean was praying to Cas for in the first place. Whatever it is between them, this “profound bond” shit, they can figure out later. Dean has Lisa, and Cas has a war up in heaven. Their grade school romance can be put on hold for a while.

It doesn’t stop Dean from praying to Cas to help with Sam every damn day. He prays and prays and begs for help figuring out what’s wrong with his brother, but nothing. No response.

No, Cas doesn’t show up until Dean’s on a case and thinks that Gabriel’s horn of truth is missing. Seems like something Cas should know about, since it’s biblical and all. Of course he would answer _this_ and not the others.

“Where’s Sam?” Cas asks as soon as he appears, and shit, Dean didn’t even think about the fact that they would be alone in a hotel room together.

“Not here.” He downs the last of his drink.

Cas grabs the bottle and steps forward to pour Dean some more. As he does so, he leans in dangerously close.

Dean backs up, nearly dropping the glass in his hand. “Wait, Cas. I didn’t call you here for that.”

Cas keeps his distance, but the way he’s staring has the hair on the back of Dean’s neck raised. “I’m sorry. I just missed you.”

“Yeah? You could’ve answered my prayers. Or stayed when I asked you to.”

“I—I was going to come back. But you were with Lisa, and I didn’t want to—”

“No, I get it. It’s fine. But you lost your chance. Let’s just, uh, let’s worry about the case, all right?”

Lisa breaks up with Dean later that day.

 

Over the next few weeks, the only alone time Dean and Cas get is spent discussing the matter of retrieving Sam’s soul. Dean thinks it’s for the best that they stay focused on what’s at hand. Hell, Cas probably has more problems than he knows how to deal with and definitely does not need Dean distracting him anymore than he already is. Besides, if Dean made a move _now,_ it would just be because he fucking misses Lisa and wants to get her out of his head. He’s sick—homesick, he realizes—and using Cas as rebound isn’t going to help anybody.

Doesn’t mean he’s unaffected when Cas gets a fucking boner watching a woman get spanked in a cheap porno.

What? Couldn’t get it up when Dean was a writhing mess beneath him, when he sucked Dean off until he was out of his mind, but he’ll get it up for _this?_ It’s nice to know that Cas’ dick isn’t the problem, and that it’s all just Dean.

Things just get oh so much better when Meg decides to plant one on Cas in the middle of a mission. Dean expects Cas to react the same way _he_ did when Meg kissed him against his will. Instead, Cas grabs her and shoves her into the wall and kisses her the same way he kissed _him_ in Bobby’s house forever ago.

Dean kind of hates his life right now. Even more than usual, and that’s saying something.

He doesn’t even have time to confront Cas about it until a week later when Cas randomly shows up, bleeding and asking for assistance. Luckily Sam’s out, so Dean can take care of him in peace.

“What the hell happened, man?”

“War, Dean. Things happen.”

“Why’d you come _here?”_

“I don’t know.” Cas grips Dean’s forearm as he lowers himself down onto the bed. “It seemed logical.”

“You fucking moron,” Dean mumbles. “What can I even do to help you?”

“Treat them like—like normal human injuries.”

All right, Dean can do that. No problem. Cas has a gash across his chest that needs some serious stitches, but it’s nothing Dean can’t handle.

He pours some alcohol on it and gets to work, and they sit in silence for several minutes. They’re so close that Dean’s hair keeps bumping into Cas’ face.

“You and Lisa—have you—”

“Still broken up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well.”

Cas winces, and Dean apologizes and presses gauze to his skin.

“Did you kiss Meg to piss me off?” That’s not what he meant to ask. Shit.

“I kissed Meg because I wanted to. I like her a lot.”

Dean stares down at Cas’ chest. “Yeah, OK.”

Cas, the stupid bastard, leans forward in pain so he can lift Dean’s chin. “Dean. I have thought of kissing _you_ every single day.”

And that’s all it takes. Fuck the stitches and bandages and the fact that Cas’ guts could spill out—Dean’s going to kiss him, damn it. He is careful of Cas’ injuries, but they kiss and kiss and keep kissing until Dean feels blood seeping into his jeans from where his leg is pressed to Cas’ hip.

He breaks the kiss and looks down to see three of Cas’ stitches ripped. “I need to—Cas, I got to— _Cas, get off me._ I need to finish patching you up.”

The angel groans and removes his lips from Dean’s neck stubbornly. He falls back against the bed and runs a weak hand through Dean’s hair as Dean finishes his work.

“That was better than I remembered,” Cas admits, and Dean can hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, then you must have a shitty memory.”

“That’s not true, I remember everything that’s ever—”

“Shut up, Cas.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel misses Dean. There is war in heaven, and the only time Cas gets to see the Winchesters is when they ask for his help. Not to mention the fact that Dean only recently got out of a long-term relationship, and Cas has spent enough time around humans to know that’s a big deal. However, it seems Dean is willing to “pick up where they left off,” as is the term. He's still uncertain what exactly that means, but the kissing is definitely nice. Cas loves Dean, and he is therefore happy with any display of affection he is willing to show.

The Winchesters are sent to a parallel universe, and Castiel could kill Balthazar for it. He’s never been to the universe himself, but it sounds unpleasant. Devoid of anything supernatural. When they return, Cas tries to tell them it was necessary and that he would’ve done the same thing as Balthazar, but it just leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth.

“I’ll explain when I can.”

“Wait, Cas. Don’t leave,” Dean says right as Cas is about to fly away. He doesn’t take his eyes off Cas as he continues, “Sam, could you give us a minute?”

Sam, confused, leaves the house.

Dean doesn’t say anything before closing the distance between them and pulling Cas’ face forward to kiss him. He breaks away after just a moment, but Cas is nowhere near done and locks his hands on Dean’s hips and yanks him back to him for more. They kiss until Dean’s pushing Cas’ coat off and reaching for his pants. That’s when Cas pulls away and knocks their foreheads together.

“Your brother is waiting for you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I just—I needed to be reminded.”

“Reminded of what?”

“What the real you feels like.”

“Dean, what—”

“I’m not talking about it.”

Dean turns and is out of the room before Cas can say anything else. Whatever he found in that universe, he must not have enjoyed it.

 

“How are you feeling?”

“Not well enough to return to heaven yet.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

Cas doesn’t answer. It’s unnecessary for Dean to apologize anyway. Sure, he’s the one who asked to be sent back to the 1800s, but Castiel is the one who agreed to do it when he knew it was dangerous. And now his lieutenant is dead. His army is in the middle of a battle, and he’s stuck in Bobby Singer’s guest bedroom with very little ability to move his human body. It will be days before he can return to his true form in order to keep fighting.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Dean asks tentatively. He’s been hovering for the past hour or so, and Cas understands that he’s anxious.

“Just—come here,” Cas answers, holding a hand out weakly.

Dean, with more enthusiasm than he probably intended to show, curls up on the bed under Cas’ waiting arm. He wraps his arm around his chest carefully, and Cas welcomes the man’s warmth and reassuring presence.

“So…you have a fetish for the Old Western aesthetic?”

Dean tenses and sighs. “I don’t—I mean, I wouldn’t _mind_ dressing up as a cowboy in bed. Or being whipped or something. Or maybe…wait, why are we even talking about this? We’ve barely even done anything with our clothes off.”

“I was simply curious.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes, and Cas focuses on the steady rhythm of Dean’s heartbeat. He thinks about all the things he doesn’t know about Dean and all the things he doesn’t understand. Sex is very foreign to him, and he is unsure whether he would ever want to actually try it himself. But if he did…he would want it to be with Dean.

“Are you not concerned Sam or Bobby will walk in here and find us?” Cas asks.

“Whatever.” Dean buries his face in Cas’ armpit. “Too comfortable to care.”

Dean falls asleep in Cas’ arms. Cas decides not to tell him that Bobby walks by the cracked door at one point and rolls his eyes at them.

 

* * *

 

Dean is shaken awake in the middle of the night by a much healthier looking Cas.

 _“What,_ dude?”

“I’m well enough to return to heaven.”

Dean grabs Cas’ tie and burrows his face closer to his chest. “So? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Dean, I can’t fly with you attached to me.”

He holds on tighter. “Exactly.”

Cas sighs and drops his hand around Dean’s back in resignation. “You are difficult to say no to.”

“Mmm. In that case, rub my back.”

He actually does it, which makes Dean feel a little guilty. But it feels really nice, so he doesn’t stop him.

After a few minutes of silence, Dean asks, “Isn’t it, like, a sin to be gay or something?”

Cas’ hand stops on his back. “I would hardly call this ‘gay’ considering you are attracted to all genders and I am a celestial being with—”

“You know what I mean, jackass.”

“No. It’s not.”

Dean looks up at his face to see if he’s telling the truth.

“That was one of the things that surprised me the most about humans, especially while Christ was still on earth. You all have gotten the message skewed. Even now, people use his words against him. In order to maintain their prejudices, they’ll [quote Jesus](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=matthew+19%3A1-12&version=NIV) saying that a man will be united to his wife and that the Creator made them male and female, but they ignore one of his very next sentences. ‘Not everyone can accept this word, but only those to whom it has been given. For there are eunuchs who were born that way…’ What do you suppose he meant by ‘born that way’?”

“I thought, uh, I thought eunuchs were those guys who got their junk cut off?”

“Yes, Jesus addressed them, too. But how many men do you think were _born_ without _any_ genitalia?”

There’s not really a good answer to that, so Dean just turns his head back to rest his cheek on Cas’ chest again.

“So no, being gay is not a sin. Being homophobic, however, is," Cas concludes.

With a laugh, Dean decides it’s time to fall back asleep. Cas continues rubbing his back, and for the first time in a while he doesn’t have any nightmares at all.

When they wake up in the morning, Dean throws his body over Cas’ and kisses him until they hear movement downstairs.

“You should probably go back to heaven now. Might be suspicious if they know you’re still here,” Dean says between kisses.

“Yes. That’s probably a good idea.” Cas keeps kissing him, too, like he thinks it’s now required to kiss after each word.

“I’ll see you later, all right?”

“OK, Dean.”

 

* * *

 

“Why’s it always got to be me that makes the call, huh? It’s not like Cas lives in my ass.”

Cas misjudges where he meant to land and ends up directly behind Dean. He smells nice.

“Cas, get out of my ass!”

“I was never in your—” This is a conversation they should probably not have right here in front of Sam and Bobby.

It’s incredibly embarrassing when they go to a town they think Eve is in and Castiel discovers he’s powerless. This is not what they needed at this juncture.

“You’re joking?”

“Something in this town is, uh, affecting me. I’m assuming it’s Eve.”

“Wait, so Mom’s making you limp?”

Even Cas is not ignorant enough to miss the double entendre, or the way Bobby’s eyebrows shoot up close to his hat. “Figuratively, yes.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but she is.”

“Well, that’s great. Without your power, you’re basically just a baby in a trench coat.”

Castiel is confused as to where Dean’s anger is coming from, but he doesn’t have to put up with it. It was only a few days ago that Dean fell asleep on him, and now he’s acting like _this._ They’ll have a private conversation about this later.

“I think you hurt his feelings,” Sam whispers as if Cas isn’t sitting right there next to him.

They split up after lunch, and Cas is paired with Dean.

“Sorry. I’m just stressed out—you’re not useless,” Dean whispers with a hand to Cas’ lower back once they’re out on the street.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean presses a quick kiss to Cas’ temple.

But it only gets worse. Eve is destroying this town, and Dean insists on saving a couple of children when millions of lives are at stake. When Castiel tries to argue with him about it, Dean looks disappointed. Like he can’t believe that Cas would be so heartless. If Cas could fly far away from here, he would.

He’s redeemed, however, when one of the children proves to be a monster and kills a handful of people. Dean doesn’t even allow him the chance to say, “I told you so.”

 

* * *

 

_Got a day of travel tomorrow, Sam’s hooking up with some girl at her place now. Get your ass down here, Castiel._

At some time or another, Castiel learned to tell the differences between Dean’s types of prayers. He can usually tell when it’s an emergency, when it’s a case they could use help on, or when Dean is desperate and needs someone to talk to. But this version, this crazed and demanding version, is new. A few angels give him suspicious looks when the call comes in, and he just shrugs and disappears.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas.”

Dean storms across the hotel room and pushes Cas into the wall with a kiss. He presses their bodies together and holds Cas’ head in place with one hand and grabs his ass with his other hand. It’s the most physical Dean has been so far, and Castiel enjoys it. He enjoys it so much that he moans, and Dean takes that as his cue to force his hand down the back of Cas’ pants and _really_ grab his ass while rolling his hips against his front. It’s intoxicating.

“We have all night to ourselves. Can you stay?”

Cas only manages a nod before surging forward again. He flips their positions so Dean’s against the wall, and he starts to unbutton the man’s jeans.

“Where’d you learn this, Cas?”

“Jonathan and David.”

Cas yanks Dean’s pants and boxers down and kneels to begin fellatio, but then there’s a hand in his hair pulling him back.

“Wait, stop,” Dean says shakily. “You keep doing stuff to me, but I’m not allowed to do stuff to you?”

“I like it better this way,” Cas responds, and he swallows Dean down whole before the man can argue anymore.

They shower together afterward, and Cas takes Dean in his mouth again—this time allowing Dean to thrust as much as he likes. When they get into bed, Cas insists that Dean remain naked so he can map a trail of kisses over his entire body. Dean is shaking and hard by the time he gets to his ankles, so Cas relieves him a third time.

Castiel leaves before Dean wakes up in the morning. He makes a mental note to learn how to perform more than just oral sex.

 

* * *

 

Dean thought he knew Cas. In fact, he was starting to believe Cas might actually care about him. He was starting to believe a lot of things. But it turns out Cas is just another disappointment.

“Hello, Dean.”

“How'd you get in here?”

“The angel-proofing Bobby put up on the house—he got a few things wrong.”

“Well, it's too bad we got to angel-proof in the first place, isn't it? Why are you here?”

“I want you to understand.”

“Oh, believe me, I get it. Blah, blah, Raphael, right?”

“I'm doing this for you, Dean. I'm doing this because of you.”

“Because of me. Yeah. You got to be kidding me.” Don’t believe him, don’t believe him, don’t believe him.

“You're the one who taught me that freedom and free will—”

“You're a fucking child, you know that? Just because you can do what you want doesn't mean that you get to do whatever you want!”

“I know what I'm doing, Dean.”

“I'm not going to logic you, OK? I'm saying _don't_...just 'cause. I'm asking you not to. That's it.”

“I don't understand.”

“Look, next to Sam, you and Bobby are the closest things I have to family. So, if I'm asking you not to do something, you got to trust me, man.”

“Or what?” Cas challenges.

“Or I'll have to do what I have to do to stop you.” This is over. Dean’s done.

“You can't, Dean. You're just a man. I'm an angel.”

God, how did he not notice the arrogance before. “I don't know. I've taken some pretty big fish.”

“I'm sorry, Dean.”

“Well, I'm sorry, too, then.”

Cas has the _nerve_ to reach a hand out to Dean’s face like he’s going to give him a goodbye kiss.

Dean pushes his hand away and moves to his right so Cas can’t reach him. “You’re kidding, right? We’re done here. No, you know what? We’re done period. Whatever this fucked up thing we had going on, it’s over. Forever.”

Dean will never forget the look on Cas’ face right before he flew away.

 

Dean still prays to Cas sometimes. He’ll pull out the trench coat and hold it against his chest for a while and just say whatever comes to mind.

_I miss you, Cas._

_I would’ve forgiven you, you know. Eventually. Hell, I probably already have.  
_

_I wish you were here. I can’t remember why anything matters anymore. You—you gave me purpose. I mean, Sammy gives me purpose of course, but…it’s not enough anymore._

_You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? If you had just fucking listened to me, man. Now we got all these goddamn sea creatures running around and it’s all your fucking fault. I hope you’re rotting in hell._

_I hope you’re doing all right, wherever you are. I saw a girl with eyes like yours today—well, I guess eyes like Jimmy’s, but…anyway, I miss you. Still._

_Did you ever even care about me at all, Cas? Did you give a shit, or was I just your ‘mission’ or your project or whatever? Was any of it real?_

Dean remembers the last prayer he sent up before he met Emmanuel.

_Please come back, man._

It lasts for all of an hour before Cas is offering to take Sammy’s place. Without thinking, Dean pulls him aside to talk about it.

“You sure there’s no other way?”

“I’m sure, Dean.”

“And—and this is it? There’s no recovering from this?”

“Most likely, no.”

The silence hangs between them for a while until finally Dean reaches an arm out and pulls Cas into a hug. He turns his head so he can kiss behind his ear, and then he pulls back to kiss him on the mouth. Their lips barely move at all.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“I know.”

It feels like Dean’s heart is being ripped in half when they leave him with Meg. There’s no way in hell Dean would’ve allowed _Meg_ to take care of him under any other circumstances, but she recognized what was going on and spoke to Dean privately as well.

“Look, Romeo, I know you guys have a thing going, and I know it goes beyond making idiotic lovestruck faces at each other.”

“I don’t know what you’re talk—”

“Cut the crap, Deano, I’m not an idiot. Listen, for some stupid reason I care about the cute angel, too. Probably not as much as you, but enough. I’m not going to let anything happen to him, OK? As much as I hate to say it, I’d probably die for that sorry son of a bitch.”

There’s no way she would make something like that up just for kicks. It’s way too embarrassing not to be true. So Dean leaves Cas with her. And feels marginally OK with it.

 

Dean doesn’t even get a goodbye kiss before Cas disappears and leaves him completely alone in monster jungle. It wouldn’t hurt so much if he didn’t know that Cas had his head back on straight.

He’s not leaving here without his angel. Hell, he’s probably not leaving here at all. But he’s going to do everything in his power to find the stupid bastard and bring him home.

_Cas, where the hell did you go? Why’d you leave me here? Are you all right? Let me know you’re all right._

Time is different in purgatory. It’s not like hell where the days stretch into years, but it’s also not anything like earth either. It’s erratic, unpredictable—one minute it’s bright and sunny outside and the next it’s pitch black like somebody flipped a switch. Still other times the sun actually sets, rises again, the whole shebang. For the first few days (at least it _feels_ like a few days), Dean is alert, focused, ready for the worst at any turn.

_Please, Cas. Just answer me. I need—I got to know you’re alive, man._

He barely even notices that for some reason he’s not hungry here. He doesn’t sleep, doesn’t use the bathroom, doesn’t even get phantom itches or anything. It’s like he’s…an angel or something. Weird. But definitely useful, seeing as there would be no chance of finding enough free minutes here to get some shut-eye. Not unless he had a companion to watch out for him.

_I’m going to find you. Whatever’s keeping you away from me, I’m going to kill it and I’m going to bring you home with me. We’re in this together, Cas. I ain’t leaving you here alone._

Benny finds him after he’s already gotten used to this place and doesn’t really need a partner all that much. But then again, he still hasn’t found Cas.

And Benny is really nice and has a funny accent.

What the hell, why not.

Dean judges that it’s been about a week or two when he recognizes that he has _feelings_ for the vampire. It’s strange, and part of him wants to blame the fact that he hasn’t seen Sam or Cas in ages and misses them both like crazy. Hell, he hasn’t had a conversation with _anyone_ but Benny in months, so it’s understandable that he would feel strongly toward him. But a bigger part of him knows that even on earth, under completely normal circumstances, Dean would still like Benny. He is patient and gentle and good-natured and inherently kind and jovial and everything Dean is not.

_I met someone. His name’s Benny—he’s a vampire. He says he knows a way out of here. But we’re not trying to leave until I find you. I’ll find you. Or I’ll rot in this place trying. I don’t care._

Sometimes they go entire sun/moon periods without encountering any monsters at all. During those times they talk, _a lot,_ because if they don’t they’ll go insane.

Benny tells him all about his life before he became a vampire, but he doesn’t really like talking much about the after. Dean tells him about the apocalypse, about Sam, about all the crazy shit they’ve seen. Benny has seen some crazy shit, too, of course, but nothing quite like an alternate universe where he’s an actor on a television show about his life.

_I miss you, buddy. I miss you a whole damn lot._

When Dean comes out to him, he’s nervous for some reason. It’s been so long since he _had_ to come out that he forgot how nerve-racking it usually is. He stumbles over his words and doesn’t even say the word “bisexual” and it’s a big train wreck that leaves Benny looking utterly confused.

“Let me get this straight—you telling me you like girls, but you also like men?”

“Yeah, that’s the gist.”

“Huh. Never heard of that before.”

“Well, a lot of people don’t mention it because it’s weird, so…”

“Didn’t say it was weird, brother. I’m glad you told me.”

“You are? Why?”

Benny shrugs. “I’d like to think we’re building mutual trust here, and I like you, Dean. I like when you’re open.”

Dean waves him off. “All right, moment’s over.”

_Can you hear me? Are you ignoring me? What did I do wrong, Cas?_

More weeks pass, and Dean is shocked that Benny hasn’t asked about Cas yet. They could’ve gotten out of this place a long time ago, and instead Dean is dragging this vampire through the worst just so he can find his friend who may or may not even want to be found. Dean realizes Benny is too nice, too patient to ask, so he brings it up himself one day after it suddenly turns dark out of nowhere. They lean up against a couple of trees to wait it out.

“I’m sorry I’m holding us up, man,” Dean starts.

“It’s all right, I get it.”

“You do?”

“You love the angel—obviously. Every monster in this godforsaken place knows it now.”

Dean blushes. “Yeah, well, I’m still sorry.”

“You ever tell him?”

“What?”

“That you love him, you idiot.”

“No.” Dean thinks about it for a second before continuing, “Don’t really have to.”

_Why does it feel like I’m cheating on you with Benny? This is weird. I wish I could get drunk here._

The darkness lasts for several hours, and they both grow tired with boredom. Apparently to maintain the angel-like stamina here, you have to keep moving and killing. They end up sitting on the ground leaning back against each other, their heads occasionally bumping. It’s the closest they’ve been to one another.

“Just, uh, for the record,” Dean begins awkwardly after a couple more hours of silence, “If we met on earth as normal people, I would’ve flirted with you.”

“I know.”

“That doesn’t, um—you’re not bothered?”

“Like I said, I like you. I’m just bummed I don’t return the sentiment—it would be a much more fun way to pass the time, right?”

Dean laughs for the first time in what feels like years. Then Benny turns, pulls Dean back against his chest and presses a kiss to his grimy hair.

“Let’s hope none of the monsters find out this happened,” Benny whispers.

“Mmm,” Dean mumbles as he adjusts his cheek on Benny’s forearm and falls asleep for the first time since he arrived in purgatory.

_I wish you were here with me right now._

It is a little strange after that. Dean and Benny are just friends…but Dean is attracted to Benny, and they are both more affectionate than is necessary. Again, the environment is really to blame here. Not that Dean is complaining. He enjoys the occasional hug, hand squeeze, kiss to the forehead. Nothing too complicated, but still kind of weird.

And then they find Cas.

Dean _almost_ kisses him. And then he remembers that he’s somewhat hurt that Cas disappeared on him. But hell, he’s so damn happy to see the angel he really doesn’t give a shit. He pulls him into a hug and barely notices that Cas doesn’t hug back.

“It’s good to see you, man. Nice peach fuzz.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s, uh, somebody you should meet. This is Benny. Benny, it’s Cas.”

They don’t seem too pleased to meet each other.

“How did you find me?”

_I ripped through monster forest for months interrogating and killing everything that got in my way until I got enough information about you to find out where you were._

“The bloody way. You feeling OK?”

“Do you mean am I still sane?”

“Yeah, if you want to be on the nose about it, sure."

“Yes. But then again, 94 percent of psychotics think they’re sane, so we have to ask ourselves, ‘what is sane?’”

“That’s a good question.” Why are they talking about this.

“Why’d you bail on Dean?” Benny interrupts.

“Dude—”

“The way I hear it, you two hit monster land, and hot wings here took off. I figure he owes you some backstory.”

“Look, we were surrounded, OK? Some freak jumped Cas. Obviously he kicked its ass, right?” Hopefully. Please.

“No. I ran away.”

“You ran away?”

“I had to.”

“That’s your excuse for leaving me with those gorilla wolves? You bailed out and what? Went camping? I prayed to you, Cas. Every night.” Every time it was dark. Every time he went more than five minutes without running into a monster. _All the time._

“I know.”

Fuck. He heard? “You know and you didn’t…what the hell’s wrong with you?”

“I am an angel in a land of abominations. There have been things hunting me from the moment we arrived.”

“Join the club!”

“These are not just monsters, Dean. They're Leviathan. I have a price on my head, and I've been trying to stay one step ahead of them, to—to keep them away from you. That's why I ran. Just leave me, please.”

“No.”

“Dean—”

“Cas, baby, I need you.” Buddy—he meant to say _buddy._ Jesus.

“Dean…”

“Let me bottom line it for you. I’m not leaving here without you. Understand?”

“I understand.”

Benny and Cas fight all the time, and Dean thinks it’s some kind of sick cosmic joke that the one person that could make Benny Lafitte lose his cool is right here in purgatory with them.

If Dean didn’t know any better, he would say Benny is jealous. No, maybe _overprotective_ is a better word. But that’s silly. Why would anyone other than Sam care about Dean enough to want to protect him?

As if that wasn’t unbelievable enough, Cas asks to speak to Dean privately one not-so-dark night and fucking _asks_ about Benny.

“What sort of relationship do you and he have?”

“Why the fuck does it matter to you, Cas?”

Cas presses his lips together and doesn’t say anything.

“Look, man, if you want to go back to the way we were before or—”

Cas cuts him off with a bruising kiss. His beard scratches against Dean’s own stubble, and it kind of hurts but in a good, not-being-eaten-by-a-monster way. His fingers pulse on the back of Dean’s neck where he’s cupping his face, like he’s trying to wipe away the bad thoughts or something. Dean slips his tongue into Cas’ mouth and relaxes into it to see where this is going. That’s when he notices that it feels _off._ He tries to adjust their position, move his mouth around more, but nothing seems to be working.

Oh. It must be _Cas_ then. Where Dean is open and pliant, Cas is reserved and unsure.

Dean pulls back abruptly. “What’s the matter, honey?” _Stop doing that, you idiot.  
_

“I—I don’t know. It’s nothing. Come on, the vampire is probably wondering where we are.”

Cas turns away before Dean can press him for a better answer. In any case, he’s not going to be kissing Cas again anytime soon.

When they finally make it to the portal out of this godforsaken place, Dean is so happy he almost cries. He’s been ignoring the pang in his chest for months, but now that he’s so close he’s letting himself feel how very much he misses his brother. And he’s going to see him soon. So fucking soon.

Cas doesn’t make it. Dean pulls on his arm as hard as he can, but nothing. The angel slips, starts to fall and the last thing Dean sees in purgatory is Cas’ blue eyes looking disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to everyone who stuck with me for six months and more than 100,000 words before we arrived at the deancas aspect of this fic. The main reason why I decided to do this (other than just fucking with people lmao) is because I wanted to demonstrate that there's a lot more to Dean being bisexual besides him and Cas being together. Anyway, we still have a long way to go, but I hope this wait was worth it!
> 
> And thanks to [Sienna](http://sienna-221b.tumblr.com/) for the amazing artwork!!
> 
> Referenced verses:
> 
> [Proverbs 4:23](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=proverbs+4%3A23&version=NIV)  
> [Matthew 19:1-12](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=matthew+19%3A1-12&version=NIV)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know, dude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a rim job and wing kink I guess.

“OK, so maybe we haven’t exactly been _fucking_ the entire time, but yeah.”

Sam stares past Dean.

“You can talk, you know.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah, OK.”

“Bobby _knew.”_

“Excuse me?”

“Oh my god.”

_“Sammy.”_

“Ellen knew, too. And Jo. _Fuck._ Everyone knew. Why didn’t I know?”

“All right, you know what, I just spent the better part of 10 minutes telling you about me and Cas, now would you please tell me wha—”

“Bobby asked me once when the wedding was, and I thought he was joking, but…” Sam shrugs. “I mean, he kept asking me if I knew if anything was going on between you two and if you had ever said anything or if I had ever _noticed_ anything going on and I was _so dumb. How was I so dumb?”_ He starts to pace. “And then Jo trying to push you guys together even before…Hell, Pamela probably knew while she was summoni—”

“You ever going to shut up?”

He stops mid-pace and stares at nothing. “Oh my god.”

_“What?”_

“That time I came out to the car and suddenly Cas was there in the front seat with you…?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to puke.”

Dean starts to laugh. It’s been a very long time since he’s seen his brother freak out to this degree.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” Sam accuses, but now he’s laughing, too. “You know what, fuck you, Dean. And fuck Cas, too.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Oh my god. _Oh my god._ I can’t live like this.”

“Dude, you have _walked in on_ me being fucked, how is this—”

 _“Because it’s Cas!_ Jesus. Please. Just—please just go back inside and do whatever it is you guys do. I’ll just be out here—hyperventilating or something.”

“All right, all right. You do see why I kept this from you, though, right?”

Sam waves him off. “Yeah, I get it. Please go away.”

Dean is still smiling when he goes back inside, and he almost forgets what he’s supposed to be doing right now. But then he sees Cas sitting there staring at the television and his smile fades. He tentatively walks over to the bed and takes a seat next to the angel.

“I told Sammy about—um, you know.”

“You mean the thing we have been keeping a secret from him and everyone else for several years?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that thing.”

Cas is quiet for a second, pensive. He doesn’t look at Dean as he asks, “Is it…still a ‘thing’?”

“If, uh, you know, if you want it to be. Or whatever.” Dean shrugs lamely and rubs his hands up and down his thighs. He is not very good at this.

But apparently it doesn’t matter, because Cas’ hand covers Dean’s to stop it on his thigh. And then they’re looking at each other, and Cas leans in and Dean doesn’t really know why he’s so nervous about this. He freezes right up until the moment Cas’ lips press against his. It’s forward, inviting, so much more awesome than the kiss they shared in purgatory. Dean gets brave really fast and pushes Cas back onto the bed until he’s lying flat. He props himself up and slots his leg between Cas’ and continues the kiss from above him.

After a couple of minutes, Dean pulls back and asks, “What happened in purgatory, man?”

Cas stares at him like he has no idea what he’s talking about and would rather just keep kissing.

“I told you I would get you out. _We were there._ It was like you just…gave up. It’s like you didn’t believe we could do it. I mean, you kept saying you didn’t think it would work. Did you not trust me?”

Cas reaches up and strokes Dean’s cheek. “Dean...”

“I did everything I could to get you out—everything! I did not leave you.”

“So you think this was your fault?”

Before Dean can answer, there’s a knock on the door and Sam’s voice asks if it’s OK to come in. Dean sighs and rolls off of Cas before yelling back at his brother that the coast is clear.

Sam stands awkwardly in the doorway with a stupid grin on his face like he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself and he might pass out any second. Jesus Christ, it’s not like he and Cas are getting married or some shit. It’s not like they’re even really together. _What is the big deal._

“Hello again, Sam,” Cas greets as he scoots back up to the edge of the bed.

Dean just lies flat on his back next to him and rubs his thumbs into his eyes.

“Hey, Cas. So, um, I’m, uh, you know…”

“Use your words, Sammy.”

“Shut up, Dean. Cas, what I’m trying to say is—I’m—you know, I’m just…”

“Oh my _god,_ seriously, dude—”

“I’m happy for you guys, is all. And I fully support you.” Sam runs a hand through his hair and continues, “But if you hurt my brother, I will stab you with your own blade, all right?”

“Jesus, Sammy, I’m not—”

“Same to you, Dean. You hurt him, and I’ll poison your beer. Don’t test me.”

Dean turns to communicate nonverbally with Cas that Sam is a dick, but Cas is stuck squinting at Sam like he’s considering if he should smite him.

What a fucking mess.

“Well, uh, I’m going to go on a beer run. Sam, try to find out where Kevin is, all right?” Dean announces as he stands and grabs his keys.

“I’ll come with you,” Cas responds.

“No! I mean, uh, it’s fine. Look, I’ll—I’ll be back soon, and we can…”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Sam says, his eyes already glued to his laptop.

Dean runs into the doorframe on his way out.

 

* * *

 

Sam tries to remember what it was like when his brother came out to him. Of course, he already _knew_ then. He had to force it out of Dean, which, now that he thinks about it, is what he just unintentionally did half an hour ago.

It was different then. They weren’t _nearly_ as close, and they also weren’t nearly as angry at one another all the time. That was long before Sam realized that hiding important things was just an integral part of Dean’s personality. A quality Sam himself accidentally picked up somewhere along the way. Back then, Sam just wanted to know the truth about his brother so he could know how to watch out for him.

But now, Sam just wants to laugh. Or celebrate. At first he was weirded out, but now he’s ecstatic. His best friend and his brother. God, if they fuck this up Sam is going to be the one cleaning up the mess. He hopes they don’t fuck this up. The worst thing about Cas and Dean is that they both need each other in near equal measures. Sam knows what happens when they don’t have each other, and, well, he would rather not like to live in a world where they’re apart.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says with his eyes still on his computer screen.

“Yes, Sam?”

“Dean treat you all right?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Cas turns away from the TV to squint at Sam.

“I mean, I don’t know—does he—is he nice to you?”

“Sam, you see how your brother interacts with me. What is—”

“Dude, I literally found out 10 minutes ago that you guys have some sort of secret relationship going on. Cut the naïve crap, man. I know you better than that.”

Cas stares up at the ceiling and sighs. “He treats me fine. His prayers are often…more vulnerable than how he is in person, but he does not know that I can see his heart past all of his defenses anyway.”

“And…?”

“And what?”

This is such an embarrassing conversation. “What does his _heart_ say?”

“That he cares about me. He needs me for more than just the fact that I’m useful, and…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. You don’t have to say it.”

“You, too, you know.”

Sam turns in his chair. “What?”

“He feels similarly about you. Much stronger than with me, and slightly different—obviously.”

Sam nods in agreement. This isn’t what he meant to talk about right now. “Cas, um, look—if he ever hurts you or confuses you or does really anything at all, you let me know, all right? He’s…difficult, I know. So if you ever need _anything_ , I’m here for you, man.”

A slight smile pulls at Cas’ lips. “Thank you, Sam. I am not entirely sure how human relationships are meant to work, but if I am ever lost with Dean I will inform you. Then again, I cannot imagine Dean is the type to stick to ‘normal’ human interaction anyway, so maybe it is beneficial that I am clueless.”

Sam chokes back a laugh. It’s easy to forget how self-aware Castiel is about his angelic shortcomings. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Just, uh, try to keep yourself alive for him, OK?”

“I will do my best.”

They fall silent after that, and it’s still several more minutes before Dean returns. When he does, he peeks his head in the door, says, “Cas, need you outside,” and then closes it without another word.

Sam and Cas smile awkwardly at each other as Cas shuffles out the door.

_Have fun fucking my brother._

Shit. Cas probably heard that.

 

* * *

 

“So, uh, does all of heaven know now?” Dean turns and leans back against the side of the Impala, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, about us. You were keeping it from all your angel buddies, right?”

Cas sighs and turns his head up and to the right like he does when he hates the answer to a question he’s just been asked.

_“Cas.”_

“You don’t just pray to _me,_ Dean, you pray to anyone who might be listening.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means my _nosey_ brothers and sisters have known for a long time.”

“You seem pissed. You pissed because you think I’m going to be pissed?”

Cas looks Dean in the eye for the first time. “Well, aren’t you?”

“No. I don’t care what some twelve-headed monsters think.”

There’s a pause, and Cas smiles just a tiny bit.

“C’mere,” Dean encourages, reaching his hand out.

Cas takes the invitation and all but falls into Dean’s arms. He slumps a little so he can rest his cheek on his chest and wrap his arms around Dean’s middle. Dean responds by rubbing large circles into his back with both his hands.

They stand in silence for a few minutes until Cas pulls back and doesn’t even open his eyes before kissing Dean squarely on the mouth with tongue and everything. Again, it’s different than it was in purgatory, so much fucking better, more desperate and sincere like he’s coming up for air for the first time in his life. Cas adjusts so he’s facing Dean straight on, and he takes his face gently in both of his hands and deepens the kiss. _God, you’re good at this—_ is the only thought in Dean’s head, on repeat.

Dean fumbles for the door handle behind him and somehow manages to pull them both into the backseat of the car without breaking the kiss. They leave the door wide open as Cas looms over him, his tongue working in and out of Dean’s mouth in a frustratingly rhythmic pattern that he better break soon or else Dean is going to explode. The angel flattens his body and rolls his hips three deliberate times, and Dean gasps and digs his fingernails into his sides so he can yank him closer and get more friction against his jeans.

“Why aren’t you hard?” Dean asks between kisses.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, use your angel powers and fucking _get_ hard already.”

Cas pulls back and squints at him. “That’s not how it works.”

Dean rolls his eyes before pushing Cas up into a sitting position so he can straddle his lap and try everything he’s got to get a reaction out of this robot. He works his ass up and down in an agonizingly slow method on Cas’ lap, making sure to rub his front onto Cas’ stomach every so often. He bites his ear, sucks his neck, pulls his hair, pinches his nipples—nothing from Cas except soft moans and closed eyes. Dean is just about to start taking clothes off when they’re interrupted.

“Oh my god this is so weird,” Sam all but shouts from where he’s standing at the motel door.

Dean sighs and sits on his heels until his back hits the passenger seat. Cas grabs his hips protectively, probably thinking he’s going to fall.

“This better be important,” Dean says.

“Yeah, um, urgent actually. Crowley has Kevin.”

 

* * *

 

Crowley has a warehouse full of demons guarding all of the prophets he’s stolen recently. They would’ve never known about the prophets if it wasn’t for Cas, and now it all makes sense as to why Crowley needed Kevin. They hope they can save everybody, but if they’re being honest with themselves, Kevin and the tablet are the priority.

Right after Dean stabs a demon in the back, Sam says, “I’ll check that way” and disappears.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” Dean says with a wink to Cas. “C’mon,” he urges, and instinctively he reaches behind him to take Cas’ hand. He’s surprised that Cas holds it tightly, lacing their fingers together. What a strange way to fight demons.

They’re swarmed by demons in the first room they enter. Dean ganks a handful before he’s thrown against the wall and watches as Cas struggles to smite the last one remaining. The second the thing hits the ground, Cas reaches for the wall to hold himself steady, and Dean scrambles to his feet to get to his angel.

“You’re not all the way back yet, are you?” he asks with a strong hand to Cas’ shoulder.

“I’m fine.” Cas pulls away from Dean’s touch and straightens himself up. Looks like he didn’t leave his pride in purgatory.

“All right, Black Knight, you’re ‘fine.’ Let’s keep moving.”

The next time they run into demons, Dean’s so distracted watching out for Cas that he gets a deep cut across his cheek. It takes several seconds before the pain hits and blood streams down his face, but he doesn’t have time to worry about it right now. They get to a door where they hear Kevin on the other side, but Dean can’t pick the lock.

“Dean, I’m going in.”

“Cas, no, you’re not strong enough.”

There’s a frustrated sigh, a flapping of wings, and when Dean turns around Cas is gone. Goddamn it.

Dean can hear Cas and Crowley arguing inside, but he can’t get this damn door open. It gets quiet, and then it gets really loud and Dean decides to fuck it and kicks the door down.

Cas is lying on the ground, nearly unconscious. Dean is crouched by his side trying to decide what to do before he even notices that Kevin is safe.

“What’s going on with him?” Kevin asks as he walks over, half of a tablet in his hands.

“He’s an idiot, that’s what’s going on.”

“Is he going to be OK?”

“He better be.”

Dean readjusts his position so he can get one arm under Cas’ knees and the other behind his back so he can carry him out of this place. Cas is, thankfully, awake enough to wrap an arm around Dean’s neck.

“Your face is bleeding,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, and you could’ve killed yourself just now.”

Cas doesn’t respond.

 

* * *

 

When Cas wakes up, the first thing he sees is Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to him. He reaches a hand out to tug on Dean’s shirt.

“I was worried you weren’t going to wake up,” Dean says quietly as he turns to face him.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About six hours. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that. That was a bonehead move back there, Cas. You could’ve gotten yourself killed. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“Well, I didn’t get killed. And it worked.”

“And if it hadn’t?”

“It would have been my problem.”

“Well, that's not the way I see it.”

Cas sits up on his elbows to get a better look at his friend. “Hey, everything isn't your responsibility.”

“It’s not about _responsibility,_ Cas, it’s about…”

“Getting me out of purgatory wasn't your responsibility.”

“You didn't get out. So whose fault was it?”

“It's not about fault. It's about will. Dean, do you really not remember?”

“I lived it, Cas. OK? I know what happened.”

Castiel might not know a lot about human behavior, but he knows Dean. He knows that Dean would rather blame himself for failing Cas than accepting the fact that Cas chose to be left behind. Dean would rather have a lifetime of false memories than feel abandoned. “No. No, you think you know. You remembered it the way you needed to.”

“Look, I don't need to feel like hell for failing you, OK? For failing you like I've failed every other godforsaken thing that I care about! I don't need it!”

“Dean. Just look at it. Really look at it.”

Though he’s still weak, he has enough strength to replay the memory in Dean’s mind—the right way. How Dean held on so tight and tried his best to pull Cas through the portal. How Cas pulled away and yelled at Dean to _go_ , how Dean looked rejected and confused as the portal closed behind him.

When the memory is over, Dean stands and paces across the room.

“Nothing you could’ve done would have saved me, because I didn’t want to be saved.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It's where I belonged. I needed to do penance. After the things I did on earth and in heaven, I didn't deserve to be out. And I saw that clearly when I was there. I—I planned to stay all along. I just didn't know how to tell you. You can't save everyone, my friend...though, you try.”

Dean turns and stares at Cas for a long time before speaking. “I wanted you _here._ With me.”

“I know—”

“You have to promise me you’ll—you’ll take care of yourself, all right? You can’t just—don’t just think about yourself, you have to think about how things affect _me_ , buddy.”

Cas’ heart rate increases. That was the single most selfish sentence Dean Winchester has ever said to him. “I…I understand.”

Dean nods and turns away again, presumably to end the conversation.

“Would you do the same for me?”

His head tilts toward the ceiling. “Yeah, Cas. Yeah, I will.”

As if on cue, Sam walks in then and looks between them knowingly.

“Uh, the Trans are safe. You guys OK?”

Cas says, “Yeah” at the same time Dean says, “We’re fine.”

“Listen, um, Cas, you probably need a couple more days to heal up or whatever. I’m going to make myself scarce, and by that I mean I got my own room so you guys can have this one. I’ll, uh, let you know when I find a case or something.”

“Um, OK, thanks, Sammy.”

Sam grabs his bags and leaves so quickly it was like he was never even there.

“Well,” Dean says with a shrug. “Looks like we’ve got time to kill.”

“What…would you like to do?” Suddenly Cas feels awkward still lying on the bed. He remembers Delilah doing this to entice Samson. He didn’t like Delilah very much.

Dean’s body visibly relaxes, and then he ambles over to the bed and sits on the edge. “I could go for some food. Want to go out to eat with me?”

“I don’t eat.”

“OK, so want to sit and watch me eat? Keep me company?”

“Yes, I would like that.”

Castiel understands the concept of a “date,” but he is wary about saying the word in front of his friend. All of this is very new to the both of them, and Cas would feel silly to presume that a certain thing is happening when Dean might believe that a certain other thing is happening. Though Cas has watched human customs and traditions from a distance for the majority of his existence, he has never been close enough to gauge the nuances of the human experience. This is precisely the reason why he feels as if the previous four years of his life are as important as the few thousand years before he met the Winchesters combined.

They sit across from each other in a booth at a Southern-style diner with pastel blue walls and metal tabletops. Dean orders a cheeseburger with no tomato, extra fries and a sweet tea. He says the drink is disgusting, and he should’ve known better than to order a Southern drink in the North. He asks Cas if he has the “mojo” to turn it into a milkshake (“c’mon, didn’t Jesus turn water into wine or some shit?”), and Cas rolls his eyes and turns it into water instead. Dean accuses him of thinking he’s fat, Cas assures him he is only watching out for his health, Dean orders a second cheeseburger out of spite, Cas eats half of his fries, Dean swats at his hand and kicks at his shins, they rush to the bathroom and make out in the handicap stall.

They are quieter for the remainder of their meal, but when they get outside Dean shoves Cas into the side of the Impala and kisses him slowly for two and a half minutes.

“Will you fuck me, Cas?”

“I—what?” It is difficult to focus when Dean’s mouth is on his neck and his hands on his ass.

“I know you can get it up, sweetheart.”

“What am I getting ‘up’ exactly?”

“Right, you’re _technically_ still a virgin. C’mon, angel, get in the car.”

Cas reaches for Dean one last time and kisses him breathless before dropping into the passenger seat. He might be a virgin, but he’s not an idiot. He’s not going to let this man treat him condescendingly in bed.

Dean rubs his hand up and down the length of Cas’ thigh as they drive back to the motel. It feels so nice that Cas becomes unusually drowsy. Too lazy to actually walk to the room when they get back, he uses his extra strength to yank Dean into his lap to kiss him some more. He could kiss Dean for the rest of time and still not get enough of it.

“Are you rubbing my thighs because I was rubbing your thigh?” Dean asks with a breathy laugh.

“Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing, Dean.”

“Then take me inside and fucking act like it.”

Cas growls and flies them into the room and directly onto the bed. Dean jumps and looks around in surprise, but then he composes himself and rolls his eyes.

“Jesus, Cas, warn a guy.”

“I don’t see how Jesus has anything to do—”

_“Oh my god, can we not do this right now?”_

Cas growls again and flips Dean over so he’s facedown on the bed. He reaches his hands under Dean’s hips and pulls his ass up so he has better access to it. Dean has his face bowed between his propped elbows, so Cas goes ahead and unzips his jeans and pulls them and his boxers down and off for him.

“What are you—oh—”

It’s something Cas has always wanted to try, but he needed the right moment for it. His tongue is on fire with the sensation of Dean clenched around it, and Cas can feel _everything._ Usually it’s annoying how sharp his vessel’s senses are, but right now it’s incredibly useful. On instinct, he fans his front wings and curls them forward to caress Dean’s sides since his hands are currently occupied on a particular set of cheeks.

“What the—what the fuck—what is that, Cas?” Dean rocks forward and back like he has an incredibly pleasant itch.

“Wings. Do you mind?” Cas asks between licks.

“God, no. You got more of those?”

Cas swirls his tongue a few times, adds his index finger next to it, and manifests his second set of wings. He’s never pulled this much of his true form into the earthly plane before, but for Dean…he would do almost anything. The wings tingle as they emerge from Jimmy Novak’s hips (not where Cas expected they would be), and Cas nearly loses his balance at the foot of the bed with their weight. He’s probably not strong enough for this, but it’s not like he needs his strength for anything else right now anyway. The wings snake under Dean’s chest, one wrapping around his stomach while the other curls around his left thigh.

“Shit, those are different,” Dean states with a gasp.

Cas is too preoccupied with Dean’s ass to respond.

“Cold—they’re—it’s cold. Jesus, can you—Cas, wrap one of those feathery messes around my dick, would you?”

Cas adds a second finger, pushes in deeper until he hits Dean’s prostate, and then he moves one of the wings tickling Dean’s side and brushes the tips of his front feathers over the head of his dick.

Dean shouts a string of expletives and comes right onto Cas’ feathers.

Cas extricates himself from Dean’s ass, puts all four of his wings away and uses the strength he has left to clean both of them up. He then sits on the edge of the bed and watches Dean’s chest heave up and down as he lies flat on his back, his arm flung over his face so he can’t see anything.

“I could feel them, but I couldn’t see them.”

“You can only see shadows of them. I’d have to take you to heaven to show you my real form.”

“What’s it look like?”

“It is most likely unappealing to you.”

“Dude, it’s _you_. You could be a four-headed, six-winged Steve Buscemi and I’d still be into it. Also, what are you doing way over there? Get up here.” Dean removes his arm from his face and pats the space next to him.

Tentatively, Cas lies down next to his charge and stares up at the ceiling with him. “I have eight wings of various sizes and shapes. They are all translucent, except for a milky film over the pair that’s made from my dead skin cells instead of feathers.”

“Dead skin cells? Angels have dead skin cells?”

“I shed every so often, yes. My skin is like that of a snake, but tougher. I have two heads, one facing left and the other right. They are both phoenixes. One has six eyes, and the other has seven. My limbs are…difficult to describe in human terms. I suppose they are more like tree branches than arms and legs, random and varying with my body as the trunk. My ‘roots’ sink and burrow to allow me to ‘walk.’”

“What color are you?”

“My skin? Blue, like my eyes.”

“You mean like your vessel’s eyes?”

“No, this is my color. Jimmy’s eyes were brown before his body was permanently etched with my grace.”

“This is the weirdest pillow talk I’ve ever had.”

“You’ve said that to me before.”

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty fucking weird, honey.”

Cas rolls over and throws an arm across Dean’s chest. “I think I may require sleep again tonight.”

Dean laughs and drops his arm around Cas’ back. “Yeah, we can sleep. You don’t mind sharing a bed, do you?”

“With you? Of course not.”

 

* * *

 

People are lying when they say they get the best sleep of their lives when another person is next to them. That’s the only explanation Dean can currently come up with.

The first problem is that Cas stripped down to his white boxers and threw on one of Dean’s softest t-shirts as soon as they decided they should settle in for the night. The second problem is that they were going to bed way earlier and way more sober than Dean’s accustomed to. The third problem is that Cas is really fucking irresistible.

As soon as Dean crawled under the covers, Cas pulled him against his chest and shoved his hands up the back of Dean’s t-shirt, whispering, “My hands are cold, and you are warm.”

Five minutes later, they had switched positions approximately 27 times, flipping and rolling and exploring each other’s bodies with hands and tangled legs and sheer weight pressing down on one another. Ten minutes in, they were making out. It was slow and lazy and calming, and Dean’s not really sure if it lasted for 15 minutes or three hours, but either way it kept him from going to sleep.

When they finally did manage to find a good position to fall asleep in, they each woke up every time the other would shift or get too far away, and then the whole process would start all over again.

On the one hand, Dean was really tired. On the other hand, he didn’t want to miss a single moment of cuddling up with his angel.

Now it’s 4 a.m. and they’re facing each other in the dark, their faces inches apart and Dean’s hand running the same pattern through the hair behind Cas’ ear.

“I used to sleep really well with Lisa.” He’s not sure why he says it. It doesn’t really make sense.

“You are not sleeping well with me.” There’s no jealousy in Cas’ tone.

“She and I just…we went through the motions. There was no, um…I didn’t really think about how great it was just to _touch_ her and be with her—like this.” He flicks Cas’ ear playfully.

“There is definitely a strong physical connection between us. Are you upset that we have not slept well tonight?”

“No. No, I’m not upset.” He leans forward and gives Cas a kiss. “I just don’t know how to be still.” _All I want to do is touch you._ Sometimes it’s easier to pray than talk.

“Go to sleep, Dean. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's an explanation for Cas' true form.](http://deancasheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/117566778021/what-was-your-inspiration-for-cass-true-form-in)
> 
> ALSO thanks to [Andrea](http://chubcas.co.vu/) and [Anne](http://deanlovestaylorswift.tumblr.com/) for the amazing true form Cas art!!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episodes 8-10 of season 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Dean/Benny, homophobic slur. Also, I stole that popular headcanon that all the monsters in purgatory were in love with Dean.

“I still can’t believe you’ve slept with dudes before.”

“Really? _Really?”_

“What?”

“You had your tongue down Cas’ throat less than an hour ago, and you want to talk about me fucking dudes?”

“I bet you top, don’t you?”

“Sam, I was unaware that you are also sexually attracted to men. Congratulations.”

“No, Cas. Not you, too. Jesus Christ, get me out of this car.”

It’s been a long couple of days for Sam. He’s not exactly used to staying in one spot for longer than five minutes, and he’s definitely not used to being by himself for any length of time either. It was an impulse decision to let Dean and Cas have a few days to themselves, one he doesn’t regret, but he very nearly went out of his mind trying to find things to do while they took a break. The amount of times he stared at his phone with his thumb hovering over Amelia’s name is, quite frankly, embarrassing. But he managed to hold out. And he only accidentally saw Dean and Cas in a compromising position one single time.

They’ve been in the car for 20 minutes, and already his patience is being tested. Cas is in the backseat mostly just listening as Sam and Dean bicker back and forth, and Sam thinks the angel’s just happy to have found a case that they’re actually interested in checking out.

“Isn’t it crazy? All three of us in this car like men. We’re like a statistical anomaly or some shit,” Dean says way too cheerily.

“I don’t like men,” Cas states.

They both turn to stare at him, but Cas is looking down at his fingernails.

“Uh, Cas? Care to explain?” Dean offers somewhat nervously.

“I don’t like men or women or most variations of any species.”

“Then what do you like?” Sam asks.

“I like Dean.” He says it so flippantly that Dean nearly veers off the road.

Nobody says anything for several miles.

“Yeah, I top,” Sam finally admits as they’re pulling into a gas station.

Dean nods knowingly as he gets out of the car. “Bobby owes me 10 bucks.”

When they get to the town, Dean pulls into the first motel he sees and they all pile out of the car. It isn’t until they’re standing in their single bedroom with two full-sized beds that they realize they maybe should’ve booked more than one room.

Or rather, Sam realizes it. Dean just walks in and casually tosses his stuff on the far bed and tells Cas to make himself comfortable. Cas takes a seat on Dean’s bed without hesitation.

This is all very strange.

Being on a case with Cas is more comical than it is unnerving, and after the second time at lunch that Dean leans back and throws his arm around the back of the booth to rub Cas’ shoulder, Sam starts to get used to it.

Dean even pulls Sam aside after their last interview of the night and asks, “We’re not making you uncomfortable, are we?”

“What? No! Of course not. Is he, uh, sleeping with you tonight?”

“I don’t think he sleeps, but would you freak out if he did?”

“No. Just…don’t do anything weird, please.”

“Deal.”

It’s not weird. It’s totally not weird.

Dean actually changes into a t-shirt and boxers to sleep in, and Cas copies him. Sam doesn’t remember the last time he saw his brother pull back the covers and get _in_ bed. At a decent hour, too.

“You going to sleep tonight, Cas?” Dean asks as he slides into bed and waits for Cas’ response before he tucks himself in.

“I’ll lie with you if you’d like.”

“Yeah, c’mere.”

Sam pretends not to watch as Dean throws back the covers and grabs Cas’ arm to yank him into bed with him. Cas goes eagerly, saddling up behind Dean and pulling him back against his chest. Sam half expects Dean to protest, to demand to be the big spoon because his masculinity is on the line in front of his brother, but nothing. He just clears his throat and rests his arm over Cas’ like it’s normal. Sam shuts his eyes and turns away from them.

“How you feeling, Cas?” Dean whispers after a minute or two.

"What do you mean?"

“Well, I just—I know that when I got puked out of purgatory, it took me a few weeks to…find my sea legs.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you’re back. I mean, obviously. I’m fucking thrilled that you’re here.” Sam hears Dean shift around so he’s facing Cas. “It’s just this whole mysterious resurrection thing, it always has one bitch of a downside.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Maybe take a trip upstairs.”

“To heaven?”

“Yeah, poke around, see if the God squad can’t tell us how you got out.”

“No.”

“Look, babe, I hate those flying-ass monkeys just as much as you do, but—”

“Dean! I said no!”

Dean shushes him gently, and there’s more shuffling around, the sound of lips on skin. “Talk to me,” Dean says softly.

“Dean, when I was…bad, when I had all those Leviathan in me…I caused a lot of suffering on earth, but I _devastated_ heaven. I vaporized thousands of my own kind, and I—I can’t go back.”

“Because if you do, the angels will kill you.”

“Because if I see what heaven’s become—what I—what I made of it…I’m afraid I might kill myself.”

There’s not a sound in the room. Sam really shouldn’t be hearing this conversation.

After at least a minute, there’s some more shifting, more kissing, and then Dean mumbles something right against Cas’ ear that Sam can’t make out.

None of them sleep much at all.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean you’re staying?”

“Somebody should look after Mr. Jones for a few days.”

Dean stares at Cas, not believing a word he says. He _just_ came back, and he already wants to leave again. He doesn’t want to be with Dean at all.

“So you’re not coming with us?”

Cas just stares back.

“Fine. Sam, let’s go.”

“I can’t run anymore, Dean.”

Dean turns back and softens a bit. Yeah, OK, the guy did just admit that he’s suicidal. So Dean closes the distance between them and kisses Cas gently, once on the mouth and once on the forehead.

“I’ll call, all right?” Dean says quietly.

“I will, too.”

Cas kisses him one more time before letting him and Sam leave.

Sam doesn’t say anything as they walk out to the car.

 

“There’s a guy tailing me, Dean.”

“What?”

“I’m telling you, brother, he’s been following me for a week.”

“Have you talked to him? Did you try to lose him?”

“That ain’t…No, I haven’t talked to him.”

“You want me to come down there and help you try to handle it?”

“No. No, I think I got it under control. I just wanted to touch base with you and see how you were doing.”

Dean shifts against the wall and kicks a few rocks. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not, uh, you’re not still beating yourself up over that angel, are you?”

“What? Cas? No. Uh, actually, he got out.”

Dean can hear Benny stand and knock something over on the other line. “How?”

“Don’t know. But he, uh, he won’t stay with me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Aw Benny, do we really have to talk about my love life?”

“So it’s a love life, then?” Benny laughs. “Proud of you, Dean.”

“Shut up. What did I just say? I can’t even get the guy to stick around for longer than five seconds.”

“Well, to be fair, it’s not like you’ve got…”

“Spit it out already.”

“—Stability. You live out of a car.”

“Gee, really? I didn’t know.”

“I’m just saying, the guy’s an angel. From what I saw of him, he’s got a lot going on. He clearly cares about you, but your lives are just…”

“Not in the same place, yeah. I know.”

The line goes quiet for a moment. Sam pops his head out of the diner to check on Dean, and Dean gives him a thumbs up.

“Listen, Benny, I got to go. Call me if that situation gets any worse, all right?”

“Sure thing, brother. Hope you and feathers work things out.”

When Dean slides back into the booth at the diner, Sam doesn’t even ask about his call before he says, “We got a vamp kill, Dean. Carencro, Louisiana.”

“Who’s the source?”

“Martin Creaser.”

“Sorry, for a minute there I thought you said _Martin_ Creaser. Crazy Martin from the loony bin?”

“Glendale Springs discharged him last month. I asked him to track Benny.”

Oh. Crazy Martin’s the one following Benny. Cool.

“You going to say something, Dean?”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t believe that.”

“Really, Dean? You don’t believe that? Because Benny’s a vampire. And any hunter worth his salt isn’t just going to let him walk around freely, so I had Martin keep tabs on him. And right now, it’s looking like the right call.”

“So Martin’s saying Benny did this?”

“Yeah.”

“OK.”

“OK?”

“If Benny’s draining folks, we should look into it.”

Of course Benny’s not draining folks, but Dean’s not about to rock the boat right now. Sam’s actually been really cool since the whole Cas thing, and Dean would like to keep it that way. Also, there’s no chance in hell they’re getting through this without the mention of one Amy Pond. So Dean will take the high road and let his brother get his payback. Unless, of course, he legitimately tries to kill Benny. Then things will get ugly.

It turns out Benny was on a fishing trip when the murder took place. He doesn’t answer his phone the half dozen times Dean calls him.

Dean can feel his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. He trusted Benny. He cared about Benny like he was family. And now? Now he doesn’t know what to think. He’s wondering if he even knew Benny at all when he finds him in the woods, burying a body. Dean clings to the machete he’s holding behind his back as he approaches.

“It’s a rogue vamp,” Benny explains. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I haven’t always been this cute and cuddly. He’s chasing a memory, Dean. Leaving dead bodies in my wake, thinking he can run me out of my hometown.”

The machete’s forgotten at this point. “Hometown? You grew up here?”

“Born and bred. With Andrea gone and you hunting again, seemed like the right time for a homecoming—you two being the only ones who keep all my ducks in a row. Went back to my old job at the café. I even found someone to hold myself accountable to. Best kind of someone, Dean. Family.”

Dean’s chest feels weird with the admission that Benny considers him on the same level of importance as Andrea, but he ignores it in favor of that last part. He thinks about the girl he flirted with at the bar a few hours ago. Fuck. “Elizabeth,” he says.

“My great granddaughter.”

Oh god no. “Really?”

“Now, hold it, now. You didn’t—”

“Uh, no. Jesus, _no,_ Benny. Listen, you can’t go after this guy. You’ve got two hunters on your ass and—”

“Oh, please? The half-wit who found me at the café? I’ll take my chances with him.”

“He’s not—I mean, he was sent by my brother. Trust me, my brother is not somebody you want to mess with.”

“I don't have time to worry about them, Dean. I didn't think Desmond had an ounce of steel in his spine, but I was wrong about that. So now I'm going to do what I should have done two days ago, which is put him back where he belongs. “

“You know there's only one way to do that, right? And that is for you to sit on the sideline while I convince Sam and Martin to go after Desmond. They see you out there, they don't care if you're going to be collecting for the March of Dimes. They are going to slice first and ask questions later. You know that.” It’s what Dean would do, and Sam is unfortunately doing his best to act like Dean.

“Your brother worse than you are?” Benny asks out of nowhere.

“What? No. What do you mean?”

Benny laughs. “The righteous power trip thing—that run in the family or is it just you?”

Dean drops his head and nods twice at the ground. “He can be scarier than me when he wants to be.”

“Dean…I didn’t mean to—”

“Benny. Please stop. C’mon, we need to figure out a game plan.”

 

* * *

 

Truthfully, Sam doesn’t want to do this.

He doesn’t want to hunt Benny, and he doesn’t want to be the hunter that kills him. He doesn’t want to hurt Dean.

But on the other hand, he can’t stop thinking about Amy. He can’t get her out of his fucking head. She was innocent and he vouched for her and Dean killed her behind his back. Those are the facts, and that’s what’s fueling Sam’s current rage. He _should_ kill Benny. Just for payback. Then again, that’s probably one of the worst reasons anyone could ever have for wasting someone.

He doesn’t want to do this.

“Listen, Dean, we came here on a dead body. You asked for some time, and now there's another dead body. Are we just going on trust here?”

“Yes.”  
  
“OK. Because we've killed for a lot less, and you know how these things turn out for us.”

“Yes, I do—too well. In fact, every relationship I have ever had has gone to crap at some point. But the one thing I can say about Benny—he has _never_ let me down.”

Well, fuck. “Well, good on you, Dean. Must feel great finally finding someone you can trust after all these years.”

Dean drops his head for a beat before meeting Sam’s eyes again. “All I’m saying is that Benny is innocent.”

“No. You’re too close.”

“You’re not going to find him. And if you do, you’ll be lucky to get out alive. And you—” Dean points at Martin, “you go with him, you’re a dead man—period.”

Martin drains his beer and says, “Sounds to me like you’ve got some kind of love affair with this monster.”

“What the hell are you talk—”

“You a faggot, Dean?”

Sam’s never moved faster in his life. Nobody’s called Dean that in years, and he’s absolutely not putting up with that bullshit from a guy who’s supposed to be helping them. He slams Martin into the nearest wall and holds him off the ground with a forearm to his neck.

“What did you just say about my brother?” he spits.

“Sam! Come on, man, chill out.”

Sam relaxes just slightly and only because he can hear Dean laughing behind him. He’s _laughing._ With his arm still on Martin’s neck, Sam turns to see Dean standing there with his arms crossed looking smug.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sam asks.

“What the hell is wrong with _me?_ You’re the one who just Hulked out over nothing.”

“Over nothing? Dean, he called you a—”

“It’s not a big deal, Sammy. Not saying I have, but so what if I’ve fucked Benny? Martin giving a shit is his problem, not mine.”

_Who are you and what have you done with my brother._

Without turning away from Dean, Sam slides his arm down until Martin’s feet hit the floor, and then he lets him go.

They go back to their conversation like nothing happened.

“There are innocent lives here, Dean. And you’re willing to risk that on Benny’s word alone?”

“Damn right I am.”

Dean’s conviction is staggering. Sam thinks back on all the times in his life where Dean lost his faith in him because he thought he was a monster or a freak or just a disappointment. He wishes he could go back, do everything differently so Dean would talk about him the way he’s talking about Benny.

Sam’s so distracted he misses Martin picking up a knife and knocking Dean on the back of the head with the hilt. Dean passes out, and Martin insists they go look for Benny while he’s out. Maybe Martin really should’ve stayed in that institution.

Over the next couple of hours, Sam only manages to lose his temper at Martin twice. They make enough progress to find a trail in the woods, and then Sam gets a text.

_Sam, I need your help. Come quick._

He drops everything and heads her way.

 

* * *

 

Benny would rather not have a Winchester on his ass, but if it means having another Winchester by his side then he’s cool with it. He’s missed Dean a lot since they got topside, and he’s especially missed fighting with him. Dean is ruthless and a perfect fighter, and Benny misses the whispers he’d hear in the woods of purgatory about the bright soul that wasn’t supposed to be there and somehow _belonged_ better than any of the rest of them.

Lots of monsters wanted to play for Team Dean. In fact, Benny had to fight and kill his way through a dozen or so challengers before he made it to Dean first. He knew he had the upper hand, too. He understood humanity better than any other vermin in that hellhole, and he knew Dean would trust him. He knew he would earn and deserve that trust, too. Dean will never know how many times Benny put others off their path. They would split up sometimes to find the angel, and Benny would always spend that time _listening._ Hearing whispers of who else had fallen under Dean’s spell, who else wanted to follow this human even if he was going to a worse place. Dean’s very presence softened the nonexistent hearts of every bastard who heard his name, which made them all the easier to kill.

Benny, being a lucky son of a bitch, had his affections reciprocated. He was…surprised when Dean came out to him. Partly because Benny was under the impression that sexuality didn’t matter in purgatory, but mostly because it meant that Benny wasn’t imagining that Dean liked him.

Of course, Dean was in love with the angel. Word spread fast around purgatory that there was another being—a being possibly even greater than Dean—and whoever brought this being to Dean would probably be rewarded for it. What Dean doesn’t know is that while he and Benny were looking for Cas, so was everybody else. Dean had everybody wrapped around his finger and he didn’t even know it.

But now, seeing Dean where he’s supposed to be, all comfortable and not running for his life…it’s comforting to know he’s just human.

The vamp Desmond gets the jump on him and nearly takes him out, and Benny has to sneak up behind to decapitate him.

“You’ve lost a step, friend. You need to lay off the junk food.” Benny reaches down to help Dean to his feet. It’s only when he’s standing that the blood on his neck becomes a problem.

“You OK?” Dean asks as he presses his hand to his bleeding neck.

He wants him. He’s never wanted somebody’s blood this bad in his life. He loves Dean, and it would feel so—

“I’m fine.”

He walks away. He loves Dean. He wouldn’t do that to him.

It takes him half an hour to be in the same room as Dean again.

“My life here is over, isn’t it?”

“Afraid so…Guys like us, we don’t get a home. We don’t get family.”

“You got Sam.”

Dean pauses as if he’s wondering if he really does have his brother. “Yeah. Benny, you got to go deep underground, where _nobody_ knows who you are.”

So back to purgatory then. “Yeah. I got one last thing I got to do.”

Benny stands and some of the air in the room must shift or something because all the sudden he’s hit with a whiff of Dean’s scent and on impulse he turns and grabs Dean behind the neck and kisses him.

He tastes as good as he smells, and Benny makes sure to lick as thoroughly into his mouth as he can before he pulls away and takes a deep breath.

“OK, I lied. I’ve got two more things I got to do,” he says casually, eyes still closed.

Surprisingly, Dean leans back in and takes charge of the kiss this time, moving his bottom lip into Benny’s mouth before swirling his tongue around and pulling away.

“You have terrible timing, Benny.”

“Yeah, well, your blood is intoxicating. Making me do stupid things I wouldn’t do otherwise.” He lets go of Dean’s neck and turns away. “I’ll see you around, Dean…Thanks for not giving up on me, brother.”

“Don’t give me a reason to.”

 

* * *

 

Don is a good guy for Amelia. She deserves the best, and he’s…well, he’s better than Sam could ever be.

It takes Sam all of seven seconds seeing Don and Amelia safe inside before he realizes what his brother did. And he’s not mad. Dean’s pulled a lot of shit lately, and Sam decides to just take it in stride. His brother is clearly going through a lot of important shit right now and if that makes him a bigger dick than usual, whatever. Sam can take it.

“So? Is it done?”

“Yeah, it’s done.”

“Any casualties?”

“Martin.”

Well, that’s not the worst thing in the world. “Was it Benny?”

“He had it coming, Sam. I’ll tell you what happened.”

 _God,_ Dean. “I—I know what happened, Dean.”

“OK, you want to listen to me or not?”

Sam hangs up. He doesn’t care. He just doesn’t give a shit.

He downs the rest of his drink and stands to leave the bar.

Amelia is standing right in front of him.

 

* * *

 

“Cas? You there, man? Listen, I’m on I-20 about 10 miles from Abilene. It would be really great if you—”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Jesus, Cas. Hey. Didn’t expect you to get here so quick.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“I’m driving to him now. I, uh, I fucked up.”

Cas sighs and stares out the window. “What did you do this time?”

“I…I made him think his ex-girlfriend was in trouble.”

“Why?”

Dean squirms a little in his seat. “I needed to get him out of the way. He was going to hurt Benny, Cas. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Benny? So he made it out then.”

“Of course he made it out. You didn’t—yeah, I guess you wouldn’t have known.”

Cas doesn’t say anything for a minute. He tries to process the information without letting his feelings get in the way. Dean really likes Benny, even Cas could tell that, and whatever jealousy he might’ve felt in purgatory is only magnified now. But Cas is too stubborn and hates himself too much to want Dean all to himself.

“Cas? You OK?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“Look, I know you didn’t like Benny—”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“I don’t know. I—I have to make things up with Sam first, all right?”

“Why did you call me here?”

Dean doesn’t answer immediately, which indicates to Cas exactly what he’s going to say. “Everything’s so messed up right now, I just…I needed to see you.” He clears his throat. “You make me, uh, calm, I guess.”

“Really? I have fond memories of testing your temper more than a dozen times.” Cas reaches over to place a reassuring hand on Dean’s knee.

Dean covers his hand with his own and squeezes. “Yeah, well, things change.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes—the radio a low buzz, Dean’s thumb sliding back and forth across the heel of Cas’ hand.

“How have you been?” Dean asks eventually.

“Busy.”

“You, uh, been back to heaven?”

Castiel tenses, and Dean’s thumb stops its pattern. “No. I’m—it’s more like demon stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Dean turns his eyes away from the road and stares at Cas like he’s already worried about it.

“Please, Dean.”

He turns back and shrugs. “All right, if you say so. I trust you.”

 _I trust you._ Castiel doesn’t even trust himself. He keeps losing chunks of time and doing things that don’t make sense. Sometimes he snaps out of a trance and finds himself in the middle of a pile of dead demons. He can't tell up from down anymore, and he has no idea what to do about it. He wishes he could just stay with Dean and hunt with him and Sam and not have to worry about anything else. Maybe one day.

They stop for gas and for lunch, and Cas steals fries off Dean’s plate. They distract themselves with everything that’s going on by talking about meaningless things, and when they head back to the car Dean kisses him right into the backseat.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, Dean.”

Dean drops his forehead to Cas’ chest and mumbles, “You have to leave, don’t you?”

“Unfortunately.”

They kiss for several more minutes.

“Thanks, Cas.”

He doesn’t say anything before taking flight.

 

* * *

 

Sam might not have been all that upset at Dean before, but when he shows up outside his motel when Sam is expecting Amelia, that’s really the last straw.

“So you’re telling me that the vampire was the true victim here? Really, Dean?”

“Hey, like it or not, that’s the truth, OK? There was a time when that actually meant something.”

“Yeah, yeah, no kidding.”

“What does that mean?”

 _“God,_ Dean. Do you even hear yourself sometimes? You really think this is just about Benny?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“What the hell do you think I’m talking about?”

“Amelia? Oh, come on, man. I sent you that text because I needed you to—to—”

“You needed me to what? To tear ass to Texas? To be afraid that what happened to Jessica, what happened to...everybody that we care about might have happened to her?”

“You were going to kill Benny. What was I supposed to do?”

He can’t believe they’re having this conversation. He can’t believe his self-righteous monster-hating brother has a crush on a monster. “Is that what we are? You save a vampire by making me believe that the woman I love might be dead?”

“What do you want to hear, Sam? That I was wrong? Fine. I was wrong. OK? But if you'd have just heard me out, if you'd have trusted me, all of this could have been avoided.”

“Excellent apology, Dean. I can tell you really mean that.”

Dean just stares at him.

“You didn't want me to trust you. You wanted me to trust Benny, and I can't do that.”

“Right. OK, well, then, what the hell do we do now?”

“That depends. It depends on you. On whether or not you're done with him.”

“Well, honestly, I don't know.”

They do some more staring.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Sam.”

“I don’t want you to say what I want to hear, I want you to say what you really mean, Dean! I want you to admit that what you did was shitty and out of line and that your judgment’s clouded because you like—”

“You’re only doing this because you’re still pissed about Amy! Admit it! You just want to hurt me as bad as I hurt you. Well guess what, I’m not letting it happen.” Dean rubs his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

“You have to choose, Dean.”

“Oh what the hell _is_ this? Are we married? You want a divorce, Sam?”

“I want you to quit fucking with me! I want you to quit treating me like—like—”

“Like what? Spit it out.”

“Like everybody else is more important than me! Like I’m a _burden_ to you! Or a—a disappointment or something.” He wants to tell him, he wants to tell him so badly that _everything_ he does is in order to make Dean proud. Even when Dean’s not around, even when Sam thinks he’s dead and gone forever—still his main motivation is to make him proud. But he won’t say it.

“Glad I made the drive,” Dean says coldly before turning around and walking out.

 

* * *

 

Dean is asleep on the couch in the living room of Rufus’ cabin when he feels a hand on his shoulder and curls away from the touch. The hand grips tighter and becomes more insistent, and then there’s another hand stroking his hair, and he whines.

_“Cas.”_

“Dean, wake up.”

“No.” Dean flips over on his back and yanks Cas down on top of him without opening his eyes. He hugs him tight to his chest and rests his chin on the angel’s head.

“Dean, there’s a case I need help with.”

“Can it wait half an hour?”

Cas heaves a sigh and relents. “Yes.”

Dean falls back asleep immediately, and the next time he’s woken up it’s to hungry kisses on his jaw.

“Good morning to you, too, handsy,” he greets before pulling Cas’ face up for a proper kiss.

Their inability to be around each other without making out is probably going to cost them their lives one day. Whatever.

“The angel Samandriel…” Cas explains between kisses, “has been taken.”

“Alfie, wiener-on-a-stick kid?”

“Yes.”

“So who snatched heaven’s second most adorable angel?”

“Crowley. He has him in Hastings, Nebraska.”

“Does that mean we have to get up?”

In response, Cas pushes on Dean’s chest to get himself up and off the couch. He reaches his hand down to help Dean up, too, and then they kiss one more time before heading over to where Dean left his laptop. A case with Cas. Should be fun.

 

* * *

 

When Amelia shows up at Sam’s door, he wants nothing more than to drag her inside and make love to her and beg her to be with him.

Which is why, after stupidly kissing her, he pushes away and tells her he can’t do this.

She’s happily married.

He’s—he’s got Dean to worry about.

No point complicating things.

 

* * *

 

“We need help,” Dean says once they realize Crowley’s hellhole is angel-proofed.

“OK. I’ll get Sam.”

“No. We don’t need Sam.”

“But you just said—”

“Look, if Sam wanted to be here, he’d be here, OK? I’ve got a better idea. Get your wings ready.”

In the next 10 seconds, they’re standing outside of Garth’s boat. They find Kevin inside, up to his elbows in a tablet and unaware of the outside world.

“You look horrible,” Cas states plainly.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“He’s right. Are you OK, Kevin?” Dean’s own words ring in his ears: _He was our responsibility!_

“Fine…I’m just in the middle of this.”

“And? Any luck?”

“Interpreting half a demon tablet? No. I got nothing.”

“All right, well, buck up because we need some of that demon TNT ASAP.”

“Sure. West Bank witch hazel, skull of Egyptian calf…”

“All right, all right, I get it. Ingredients are hard to come by, huh?”

“Give me the list. I’ll get what we need,” Cas cuts in.

Dean claps him on the shoulder and winks before turning a proud smile at Kevin. Kevin makes a confused, slightly disgusted face before grabbing a pen and paper to make a list.

Cas, the stupid idiot, gives Dean a quick peck on the lips before disappearing. Dean clears his throat and adjusts his collar and looks anywhere in the room but at Kevin.

 

* * *

 

Kevin stopped being surprised by anything that ever happens to or around him about a year and a half ago, maybe even longer. Still, that usually means _bad_ things, which is why a laugh escapes his throat when Castiel, who was…“not all there” so to speak, when Kevin met him, plants a kiss on super manly man Dean Winchester before he flies off. And Dean doesn’t even look upset about it.

Yeah, he can momentarily put aside the demon tablet for this.

“You and Cas, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t peg you as gay.”

“Because I’m not.”

Kevin leans forward in his seat. This just keeps getting more interesting. “So is it like a…do you have a thing for supernatural beings or something?”

“What? No! I—” Dean cuts himself off and stares into space as if he’s just realized that he’s shacking up with a _supernatural being._ “I like men and women and most people in between, all right?”

“You’re pansexual?”

“Bisexual. Gender’s relevant to me, which is what makes the difference. Why the _hell_ are we talking about this?”

“But if gender’s relevant and Cas is in a vessel that’s not really his…?”

Again, Dean looks like he’s never even thought about it.

“You’re totally pansexual!”

“Am not! Shut up. I can identify however the fuck I want.”

“So what would happen if Cas showed back up here in a female vessel?”

Dean scrunches his face and looks like he’s thinking way too hard about this before he answers, “I mean, it would still be Cas, but…Yeah, it matters. It would be weird. Officially bisexual. Happy?”

Kevin shrugs and laughs.

_“What?”_

“I can’t believe you’re fucking an angel.”

“Hey, nobody said anything about fucking.”

“Wait. So you don’t—”

“This conversation is over. I’m going to go bury myself in a ditch.”

"No! Hold on! What about Anna?"

"Who?"

"You had sex with her without knowing that she was..."

"How the fuck do you know—”

"I've read the books."

Dean rolls his eyes and drops his head. "Anna was a woman, and she was still a woman when I slept with her."

"But...If you were straight, you wouldn't've..."

Dean leans over the table very seriously. "You listen to me, kid, all right? If a woman says she's a woman, she's a woman. End of story. I don't care if she's got 10 dicks between her legs, she's a woman. Understand?"

"Yeah. You're right. Sorry."

"All right. Uh, I'm done. OK." Dean stumbles over a chair and leaves before Kevin can say anything else.

Yeah, maybe not everything has to be bad.

 

* * *

 

Dean is so embarrassed he almost misses his phone ringing when he gets outside.

“Hey, I thought I told you to go underground.”

“Hey. I am so far underground, I’m breathing through a straw, brother. Uh, look, what happened with your friend Martin back there, it wasn’t supposed to go down that way.”

“Yeah, your granddaughter told me. And he wasn’t my friend.”

“Dean, you did this old dog a real solid, and uh, the way you stood up for me…”

Dean switches the phone to his other ear. “Well, shoe on the other foot, you would’ve done the same.”

“Yeah. I hate to ask for much else, but I don't suppose there's any chance you're anywhere near the Catskills?”

Goddamn it. “Working a case on the other side of the country. Why? What's up?”  
  
“Yeah, just hitting a little rough patch, I guess. You know, doing this whole solo thing.”

“Benny...One day at a time, man. You can—you can make it without me, you hear? You don’t need me to take care of you. You don’t need me to…”

“You know what? A cup of coffee sure would do me good.”

“All right, as soon as I'm done with this case, I'll, uh...I'll be there, OK?”

“Yeah. All right, brother. Thank you.”

Dean hangs up and presses the phone to his forehead. If he’s pulled in any more directions, he’s going to snap.

He wishes he was back in purgatory where everything was black and white.

 

* * *

 

“Watching humanity—it never gets old, does it?”

“Jesus, Cas, where’d you come from?”

“Nebraska. We need your help, Sam.”

Sam tenses. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Dean and myself.”

“No.”

“It’s an important case. Please, Sam.”

“Does Dean know you’re here?”

Cas stares up at the sky and doesn’t answer.

“Going behind your boyfriend’s back? Smooth.”

“He’s not my…Will you please help us? Just this one time?”

Well. It’s not like he was actually planning on staying with Amelia anyway. He places his hand on Cas’ shoulder and tells him to fly.

 

* * *

 

When Dean makes his way back inside, he finds Cas standing there with Sam.

He turns a cold look on Cas, and Cas just crosses his arms and squints really hard. They’ll talk about this later.

“I told you we didn’t need him.”

“We need _everything,_ Dean. And I need both of you, as you say, to stow your shit. Can you do that?”

“Do we have a choice?” Dean asks.

“No.”

“Fine. Let’s get moving.”

The next couple of hours are extremely strange. Before they go inside, Cas makes a statement about needing to save this one life after killing so many. Even though it’s dangerous. Even though they could all get killed.

They make their way past demon after demon, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake until they begin to hear Samandriel’s screams through the walls.

Naturally, Sam and Dean end up working together, fighting side-by-side, throwing signals at one another and easily taking down anybody who gets in their way.

There’s a door. They can hear Samandriel on the other side.

“Hey, Cas, any time now,” Dean says and Cas shows up all out of sorts.

“Cas! Cas, are you all right?” Sam asks while Dean tries his best to get the damn door open.

“Is he OK, Sam?”

“I don’t know! Cas! Buddy, come on! You’re all right.”

“Sam, you got to tell me he’s all right!”

“Switch with me!”

Sam takes Dean’s place at the door so Dean can tend to Cas, who is now curled up on the floor with his hands over his ears. Dean does the best he can trying to pull Cas into his arms and soothe him in whatever way he knows how. But Cas is in full-on panic attack mode, and pulling an angel down from that is probably a bit more difficult than if he were human.

“Shh, Cas, it’s all right. It’s OK, you’re OK. I’m here, all right? I’m here with you, honey.”

“Dean. Need your help here.”

Dean waits until Cas’ breathing evens out, and then he goes to the door and the second time he and Sam hit it together it finally breaks. Cas gets to his feet, and Dean helps him into the room and asks if he’s OK to go help Samandriel. Then demons are on them, and it’s a messy fight, but Cas and Samandriel make it out so that’s all that matters.

Except. When they get outside, Cas is kneeling next to a dead body, his angel blade bloody in his hand.

“Cas, what happened?” Dean asks, kneeling next to him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“He was compromised. He came at me, and I killed him in self-defense,” he says almost as if it’s…rehearsed.

Dean rubs his back and notices blood spill from Cas’ eye. “Buddy, are you OK?”

“My—my vessel was damaged in the melee. I must return Samandriel’s body to heaven.”

“Cas, are you sure—”

He and Samandriel disappear.

“We have to get back to the cabin,” Dean says seriously as he heads for the driver’s side of the Impala.

“Yeah.”

It’s a silent drive back, and then it’s a silent few minutes as they paint sigils on the cabin walls to ensure that Cas can’t see or hear them.

“You doing all right?” is the first thing Sam says, and that’s not what Dean expected at all.

“OK, what the hell?”

“I know.”

“I _told_ you something was off when he got back from purgatory.”

“Oh right, because you’ve been _so_ concerned about that around him lately.”

He’s got a point. “Shut up.”

“So what, someone’s messing with him or something?”

“Who?”

“Angels?”

“Why would the angels have him kill _another_ angel?”

Sam just shrugs.

“You know what, man, I got this. I can handle Cas on my own. You go.”

“What?”

“Don’t you have a girl to get back to?”

“Yeah...Um, since when are you on the Amelia bandwagon?”

“I don't know. I'm just tired of all the fighting. And, you know, maybe I'm a little bit jealous. I could never separate myself from the job like you could. Hell, maybe it's time for at least one of us to be happy.”

“Really? You don’t think you and Cas—”

“What did we just talk about five seconds ago?”

“Good point.” Sam pauses and takes a drink of his beer. “She does make me happy, and she could be waiting for me if I went back. I'd be a very lucky man if she was. But now, with everything staring down at us, with all that's left to be done...I don't know.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

Thank God.  
  
“Well, I do know this: whatever you decide, decide. Both feet in or both feet out. Anything in between is what gets you dead.”

“You going to take that advice yourself?”

Dean doesn’t answer. Sam walks outside, presumably to take a walk.

Dean immediately pulls out his phone.

“Dean. Thank you mightily, bud. I'm in a hard way here. How close are you?”

This is too hard. “I'm sorry, man. I, um, I'm not going to make it.”

“You mean now, or...?”

“Listen, Benny. Everything you've done for me, I will never forget. And, uh, you know—I really care about you, man. I care about you a hell of a lot, you know that. You and me, we’re…You were my family when I had none. But, uh...This is it.”

“End of the line?”

“End of the line.”

“Yeah, well, I never liked these cellphones anyway.”

“You, uh. You stay good, all right? Please. For me.”

It’s a while before Benny’s voice comes back through the line. “You too, Dean. And, uh, thanks for the ride. Thanks for everything.”

“Yeah, man. Adios.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episodes 11-16 of season 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts with lesbian sex and I'm not sorry about it. Also warning for Dean/Aaron and some blow jobs and stuff.

“Oh—oh! My Queen, please! Oh—yeah—right—there—my lady!”

Charlie swirls her tongue once, twice, three times. Then she slows down a bit and licks in long, lazy circles, stopping only to lightly suck here and there. When her handmaiden starts to squirm, Charlie presses her hands into her thighs and soothes her with a brush of fingers. Once she’s got a steady up-and-down rhythm going, it doesn’t take long for her handmaiden to climax. Charlie tries not to smirk as she lays her tongue still and flat until the other girl comes down from her high.

“OK—OK, get off me…your majesty.”

Charlie stands, cracking her knees and jumping on the bed next to her lover. “How did that feel, Clawerey?”

“My lady…” she breathes.

Charlie tips her head to the side to kiss her arm. “You’re dismissed this afternoon, correct?”

“Yes, my lady. Will another of your handmaidens attend to you?”

“To be fair, _I’m_ the one who just did the attending.”

Clawerey laughs and throws her arm over her face. “Are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“Nope. Trust me, I’ll have plenty of opportunities later. I am the queen, after all.” Charlie kisses Clawerey a few more times before standing and grabbing her tunic. “I have a battle to get to, and you have the mortal world to return to. But hey, next week, right?”

Clawerey stands reluctantly and pulls Charlie up close to kiss her one last time. “Sure thing, my lady. Thanks for…you know.”

Charlie winks. “My pleasure, gracious handmaiden.”

It’s damn good to be queen.

 

Charlie is in the middle of defeating her third hopeless swordsman when she spots them in the crowd.

Crap.

Sam and Dean Winchester, the absolute last people on earth she ever wanted to see again despite how aesthetically pleasing they both are.

She races back to her tent and starts packing all of her things and erasing any evidence of her…rendezvous from earlier.

“Charlie,” Sam says from behind her.

“Charlie Bradbury is dead. You killed her. My name is Carrie Heinlein. Oh, and guess what? Now you killed her, too.”

“OK, listen, uh…”

 _“No._ If you guys are here, that means a monster’s here. Why do I have such bad luck? Why am I—am I some kind of monster magnet? Is there such thing as a monster magnet? You know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t care. What I care about is not getting another arm broken…or dying. So, I’m dropping my sword and walking off the stage, bitches.” She drops her crown on Dean’s head on her way out.

“Charlie. Charlie!” Dean calls. “Greyfox and Thagrim—uh, Ed and Lance—they’re not missing. They’re dead.”

Well, shoot.

Not really one to turn her back on her kingdom, Charlie turns back around, plucks her crown off Dean’s head and takes a seat. Accepting her fate, she asks Sam and Dean to explain.

After they’re done, Sam and Dean get into a needless fight over whether Charlie should stay or leave. Gosh, they fight like a married couple. They fight like old people on sitcoms in the ‘80s. They fight like—man, this is boring.

“Charlie, I’m going to need to borrow your laptop.”

“There are no laptops in Moondoor. What? There are rules.” Charlie clears her throat. “But there is a tech tent four tents down.”

“OK, how about you guys go canvas and I’ll go dig into the accidents?” Sam reasons before leaving.

“OK. I’m going to need the full wiki on where you guys have been. But first, you’re going to have to ditch the suit if you’re going to walk and talk with the queen,” she says to Dean.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t argue at all when Charlie shoves a servant’s costume at his chest and tells him to go change. In fact, he comes out of the dressing room looking giddy with excitement, furthering Charlie’s belief that he is secretly a dorky dad.

“So what’s been going down lately? Anymore Dicks out there trying to take over the world?”

“Uh, not quite. I was in purgatory.”

“The one in Miami?”

Dean gives her a stern look through the mirror. “I’m queer, not tasteless.”

“Wait, so, like, the _actual_ purgatory? Did you meet a lot of failed nuns down there?”

“No. I met a vampire.”

“Oooh, Bella Swan, tell me more.”

Charlie regrets that request almost immediately. Dean jumps into some long-winded story about man pain and angst and more man pain that ultimately ends with him inadvertently taking all of his failures out on his poor brother. Charlie decides not to tell Dean that the reason why he guilt tripped Sam so much after he got back from purgatory was because he couldn’t live with himself for letting Cas down, so he had to take it out on somebody else. That’s a conversation for another day.

“You sent Sam a phantom text from his ex? Dick move, sir.”

“Yeah, not my finest hour.”

“So he found some normalcy with this chick, and now it's gone...again. Thanks to you.”

“Yeah, well, now he's more committed than ever, so there's that. But, trust me, this life—you can't afford attachments. You just got to...let go.”

“Are we still talking about Sam, or did you break up with someone, too?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, so was it Benny or Cas?”

Dean tries to play it off like he has no idea what she’s talking about, but then his face falls and he admits quietly, “Both.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Hug it out?”

“What? No. Stop being weird. C’mon, let’s go be dorks together.”

“OK, but, remember: you have to call me ‘my lady’ or ‘your majesty’ outside, all right? ‘Your grace’ works, too.”

Dean bows dramatically and points Charlie out the door.

As they walk through the camp, Dean asks Charlie how she got into LARPing in the first place.

“A buddy of mine was into LARPing. Went for him, stayed for the chicks. It’s not just that, though. It’s an escape. I mean, here? I’m queen, I’m a hero. Out in the real world, I’m just hacking code and chugging coffee all day long.”

They stop walking. “Now, wait a second. If it wasn’t for you, we would’ve never been able to take down Dick Roman. Out there in the real world, you are a hero.”

Wow, what an inspiring dad speech.

A few women pass by and greet her, and Dean says suggestively, “I’m noticing a lot of these maidens checking you out.”

“What? I can’t shut this down. You want me to hook you up with any dudes? I know a few—”

“You know I’m not _just_ into dudes, right?”

“What? Really?" Charlie considers it while Dean shrugs and nods. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I can see you swinging both ways.”

“Thanks.”

The next few hours pass in a blur. Dean protects Charlie like it’s actually his job (overprotective dad). She accidentally calls him her new handmaiden, but he doesn’t get offended. She supposes he threw his hetero-macho bullshit out the window when he put on a costume and grabbed a styrofoam sword to role play in a magical kingdom. They split up, and he tells her to go find Sam. Literally within the next two minutes, she gets captured by a monster in the woods and wakes up in some strangely homey cabin. When she tries to escape, she discovers that there is indeed a real type of magic—which would be fantastic news in literally any other circumstance besides this one.

“Great. Now the worst period of my life comes to an end. I saw my boss get eaten by a Leviathan, broke my arm, lived life on the run, finally got it all back, and now a dude in a stag-skull mask is going to kill me. I just want my old life back!”

In response, the monster removes its mask to reveal…a smoking hot lady. “That is all I want as well.”

Oh OK. All right then. Yeah. Charlie can get down with this. She’s the queen, after all.

The woman’s name is Gilda, and she’s a freaking _fairy._ She claims that an evil man (typical) has put her under some kind of spell to do his bidding ( _so_ typical), so Charlie promises to rescue her. Surely she can put a leash on whatever dork in Moondoor thinks he can use a fairy to kill his enemies. Or, if nothing else, she can hook up with Gilda. The girl sure looks like she needs a break.

But, just her luck, super dad and his kid brother burst through the door right as Charlie’s trying to seal the deal.

“Dude. If the tent is rocking, don’t come a-knocking.”

“No, it’s him! My master! Run!” Gilda shouts, pointing at some cloaked dude who came in behind Sam and Dean.

Just as she suspected, it's some dork who takes the game too seriously. Charlie’s never playing another game again in her life once this is all over. Well, at least not games predominantly marketed toward men who need attention.

Being that she’s the one who promised rescuing, Charlie charges at the loser, Gerry, first. With a fake sword. In fact, all of them have fake swords. How convenient.

After Charlie’s been thrown back onto the bed, Gilda tells her that there’s some book that must be destroyed to break the spell. Seriously, if some man-eating giant basilisk shows up in this cabin…

“Hey, Gerry,” Charlie says when she’s found the book, “I’m the one who saves damsels in distress around here.”

It works. Charlie gets so hopped up on adrenaline that she doesn’t even care when Gilda kisses her and then disappears into thin air. It probably wouldn’t have worked out between them anyway.

“So what's next for you, Charlie? New town? New identity?” Sam asks as they’re all trying to readjust back into normal life outside of Moondoor.

“If the last 24 hours have taught me anything, it's that escaping isn't what it used to be. No more replacement characters for me. I got to face reality from now on. Sadly, reality actually includes monsters, but what are you going to do? If I can ever be of help to you guys, let me know.”

“Will do. And you, uh, you're good?”

“Apart from the fact that you blocked me from banging a fairy, and I'm about to go lose my crown in battle, thanks to my army being decimated? Yeah. Totally good. Smell you later, bitches.”

It’s not even a minute later before Dean is chasing after her asking if they can be of help in her battle. They probably can’t, but he looks so freaking excited that Charlie couldn’t possibly say no.

Maybe the whole monster thing, being friends with the Winchesters, having near death experiences—maybe it’s all worth it.

That night they go out to a bar despite Sam’s protests, and Charlie gets to see firsthand how the Winchesters make money. Dean leans back in his seat next to Charlie, drinks his beer and does all the talking while Sam plays an incredible game of pool. The guy he’s playing only gets one ball in.

“Who taught him how to play pool?”

“Who do you think?” Dean asks arrogantly.

“So how come _you_ don’t play?”

Dean stares down at his glass and runs his thumb along the rim. “I, uh, I quit when I was a teenager.”

“Hmm, I sense a tragic backstory in there. Being generally uncomfortable with heavy situations, I’m going to change the subject and ignore this momentary awkward lapse. So is hustling pool you guys’ primary source of income?”

“Not really a subject change there. Why don’t you try one more time?”

Well, crap. Dean has probably lived a much sadder life than Charlie originally thought. “OK, uh, regroup. Let’s see…if you could have sex with any celebrity, who would—”

“Harrison Ford, even at his current age. Next question.” He downs the rest of his beer and waves at the bartender.

“So Cas, what’s _he_ like?”

“Really? We’re going to do that _here?”_

“Or you could tell me about Benny. Angel or vampire, Dean, it’s your choice.”

He groans and slumps in his seat. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?”

“Not getting out of what?” Sam asks as he slides a chair up and drops a wad of cash into Dean’s hand.

“Dean here is going to tell us about his supernatural love triangle.”

Sam is immediately back on his feet. “Nope, I’m going to the bar. I’ll tell the guy you both want another round.”

“This is why I didn’t tell you, Sammy!” Dean shouts after him.

Sam just throws his arm up and waves it back as he’s walking away.

“So who’s a better top, Benny or Cas?” Charlie asks sarcastically.

“How did you know I…?”

“Not that hard to figure out. You don’t know a whole lot of other gay people, do you?”

Dean just shakes his head almost sadly.

“Well, lucky for you I’m an amazing, loyal friend. And I’m gay, so, you know, support system and all that.”

“When did you know that you were…?”

“Oh, probably about 14. All my friends were obsessed with Cory and Shawn, and all I could think was, ‘But what about Topanga?’ And then I had to run cross country sophomore year, and that’s when I met Bridget Weber and got a little steamy in the locker room after meets if you know what I mean.”

Sam returns with their drinks and takes a seat between them, creating a circle.

“But it was—like, it was that easy for you?”

Charlie shrugs. “I guess. I mean, coming out is always awful no matter what, but I didn’t even start doing that until halfway through college. And by that point, there were already enough other things for people to judge me for besides that, so I didn’t deal with too much shit.”

Dean just nods again and takes a gulp of his whiskey. Charlie tries to get a read on Sam, but he’s just got the sad, concerned eyes going on. Gosh, these boys are ridiculous.

“I’m…guessing you had a harder time?”

“It’s a little different when you’re doing things you’re not _supposed_ to enjoy, all right? Took me a while to figure it out.”

“You still think it’s wrong.”

“Not as much as I used to.”

“Well, that’s the fun thing about being gay. You never know when you’re going to wake up and think, ‘Am I an abomination or am I an evolutionary safeguard to prevent overpopulation?’ But then most days I choose to believe I am a goddess sent to earth to pleasure women. Much better that way.”

“I told you,” Sam says to Dean.

“Told him what?”

“Sam thinks I need a queer friend,” Dean explains.

“Well, yeah, duh. And I need somebody to save the world with on a regular basis, so we’re even. Now for the love of god, tell me about Benny and Cas.”

Once again, if Charlie could go back in time by just like five minutes, she would retract that question. Dean apparently hasn’t talked to anyone, well, _ever,_ and he chooses Charlie of all people to change that. By the time he’s done, she’s pretty sure she could describe the exact texture of stubble on Castiel’s face.

“Oh shit. Fuck, I just over shared, didn’t I? I fucking—”

“Dean! It’s OK. You clearly needed to…get some things off your chest. How do you feel?”

His eyes go out of focus before he pouts his lip and nods a few times. “Better. Definitely better. Sorry.”

“Do you want me to offer advice, or was this simply an unloading sesh?”

“Nah, you’re good.” He looks at his watch. “It’s getting late. We should probably…”

“Do you want to dance before we go?”

“What? No! I—OK, yeah. Sam probably left what, like an hour ago?”

She loops her arm with Dean’s and drags him toward the other side of the bar where the dance floor is. “Somewhere between being worried that Cas isn’t actually capable of having ‘real’ sex with you and being upset that Benny doesn’t _want_ to have sex with you.”

By the end of the night, Dean is nearly falling over with exhaustion. He tries his best to stay upright, and Charlie wonders how accustomed he is to being on his feet for longer than 24 hours. Then again, fighting monsters out in the real world is a whole lot different than waving plastic swords around and dancing to early 2000s pop music in a crowded bar.

“All right, buddy, I think we’ve drained all the fun out of you. C’mon, let me get you back to Sam.”

As they’re getting in a cab, Dean places his hand very seriously on Charlie’s shoulder and says, “Hey. I’m glad you’re my friend.”

Yeah. Charlie’s glad, too.

 

* * *

 

_Hey, Cas. Uh, haven’t seen you in a while. Just checking in, making sure you’re OK. I hope…I hope everything went all right in heaven with the whole Samandriel thing. I know that must’ve been, um, tough for you. Listen, man. I’m here for you. You know that, right? I’ve always been here for you. You can pop in whenever the hell you want, I know you know where I am without me telling you. I mean, I don’t know how, but I know. So if you want to talk or fuck or whatever, flap your way on down here whenever you feel like it. Open invitation._

_But, uh, no pressure. You know, I know you’re busy. I know you’re trying to…work everything out. You’ve got bigger things to worry about, and I know I shouldn’t even be bothering you. It’s just—I just thought we might've had something good there for a second. It felt good at least. I don’t know, man, I don’t know what it is you want or what you’re doing or anything. But I would like you here. I would like you to—to be here with me. If you want._

* * *

 

 _The locusts looked like horses prepared for battle. On their heads they wore something like crowns of gold, and their faces resembled human faces. Their hair was like women’s hair, and their teeth were like lions’ teeth. They had breastplates like breastplates of iron, and the sound of their wings was like the thundering of many horses and chariots rushing into battle._ _They had tails with stingers, like scorpions, and in their tails they had power to torment people for five months. They had as king over them the angel of the Abyss, whose name in Hebrew is Abaddon and in Greek is Apollyon[(that is, Destroyer).](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+9%3A7-11&version=NIV)_

 

Henry Winchester is a name that sits sour on Dean’s tongue. His own father only ever spoke poorly of him, and now Dean is expected to work with the guy on a case.

He’s expected to believe he and Sam were supposed to be something called “Men of Letters,” some bullshit hoity-toity club that thinks they’re superior to hunters. If Henry calls them “apes” one more fucking time…

Sam, of course, gives him the benefit of the doubt. Says maybe the reason why he abandoned Dad as a kid is because he got stuck in the future. Still, he abandoned his family. He abandoned his family, and in Dean’s eyes that’s unforgivable. No excuses.

Dean explodes on him eventually. It always happens eventually. Except this time, there are potentially dire consequences. Henry takes the criticism to heart and tries to go back in time to fix everything. He tries to go back in time to be the father that John needed. The grandfather Dean needs.

“Sammy?” Dean asks frantically as he puts his phone to his ear.

“No. Much sexier. Try again.”

“Abaddon.”

“Good boy. Now listen up. I want to make a good, old-fashioned horse trade. Henry and the key for your brother, or he dies. Am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

When Dean hangs up, Henry asks, “Abaddon has Sam? If I could just go back, I could stop all of this from happening.”

“And what if you can’t? I can’t take that risk now, not with Sammy on the hook now.”

“I can’t abandon my son, Dean! Not again! I’m sorry.” Henry begins reciting a spell to initiate the time travel, but there’s no way in hell Dean is going to let that happen.

So he attacks him, throws him in the backseat of his car, and drives toward Abaddon and Sam.

“Sorry about that,” Dean states once Henry wakes up.

“No, you’re not. You’ve wanted to do that since we met.”

“Henry, you need to understand something. When my dad died, I couldn't save him...no matter how bad I wanted to. I never want that to happen to Sam, ever. If there's a chance that I can save him, I'm going to do it. He's my brother. He's the only family I got.”

It’s been a long time since Dean’s voiced that. The main reason why he puts Sam’s life above everybody else’s, the reason why he can’t live in a world without his brother? Because he couldn’t save his dad, and his dad should’ve been alive instead of him, and he still doesn’t know how to live with himself for it. So, yeah, maybe his dependence on his brother is totally selfish.

 

Abaddon is one evil motherfucker.

She is ruthless in ways Dean has never seen a demon before. She doesn’t care about anything, not even her own life. All she wants to do is kill and destroy, and something about how vile and absolutely corrupt she is…is intoxicating. If Sam’s life wasn’t on the line, Dean might’ve found it difficult to put a bullet in her brain and chop her body into bits. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone _ever._

Dean feels a stab of guilt as he watches Henry die. Maybe…he can forgive him.

“For a bookworm, that wasn’t bad, Henry.”

“I’m sorry I judged you two so harshly for being hunters. I should have known better.”

“About?”

“You’re also Winchesters. As long as we’re alive, there’s always hope.”

Dean chokes back a laugh. He hasn’t felt hopeful since, well—since the apocalypse. At least Sammy’s got enough hope for the both of them.

 

* * *

 

Sam didn’t like living in a dorm in college.

Hell, he didn’t really even like living in a house during his junior and senior years.

It was too…in between. When they were growing up, everything was in between. They would stop for a couple of months and rent out a shitty apartment where he and Dean would have to share a room. Sometimes it was only a couple of weeks and they’d stay in a Quality Inn. Sam never settled down in any of these places because he knew there was no point. At any second their dad could run in and grab them and tell them they had to go _now._ Sam didn’t understand when he was younger, but he caught on eventually. His dad didn’t win every battle. Sometimes monsters _knew_ that he had sons, and they would come after them. They would show up right at their front door.

One time they stayed at a place for an entire two months, and Sam came home from school one day to find Dean hanging an Indiana Jones poster on the wall.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“What’s the point? We’re probably leaving soon anyway.”

When Dean turned around, he looked hopeful. “Yeah, but what if we don’t? What if we stay here? Just think about it, Sammy!”

Sam bought a Star Trek poster the next day. He barely even walked in the door before his dad said they were leaving that weekend. He threw the poster away.

Sam didn’t hang any posters on his walls in college. He didn’t put a mattress pad on his bed, and he didn’t have any books on his bookshelf. He kept all of his clothes in a duffel bag most of the time.

His friends asked him about it at first, but when Sam just shrugged in response, they stopped asking. Jess knew he moved around a lot as a kid and that he didn’t have a great _home_ life, but that’s about it.

The only place he’s ever really moved into is the Impala. Of course, it’s more Dean’s than his, so even that feels strange. His initials carved into it, his crap crammed into the glove box, his section of the trunk full of weapons—it’s as close to a home as he’s ever had. The most stability he’s ever had.

“Sam. We’ve found the bat cave.”

There’s water, electricity, a fully stocked pantry with canned food from the 20th century. A library packed full of anything they could ever need, a control room with ancient computers that still _work,_ a fully furnished _home._ There’s even Wi-Fi.

The first thing Dean does is go online and buy a memory foam mattress, a bed frame, a desk chair, gun mounts for the walls.

“You’re joking, right?” Sam asks as Dean types one of many credit card numbers in.

“What? This is ours. Might as well move in.”

Sam shakes his head and leaves the room. Looks like they’re sleeping here tonight.

 

* * *

 

_Cas. I know you got your ears on, you miserable son of a bitch. Listen. It’s hard to explain, but Sammy and I have…inherited a house. OK, well, it’s less a house and more like a—a bunker. Can you get a read on our address and hustle down here? I mean, I’m not saying it’s an emergency or anything, I’m just saying that I’ve got my own room with a fancy bed and I might be naked right—_

“Other angels can hear you, Dean.”

“Cas! Where the fuck have you—”

Cas grabs Dean’s hips and shoves him back until they hit the bed. He kisses him hard, almost violently, and Dean feels helpless beneath him.

“Cas. Cas! Slow down a little, buddy.”

Cas pulls back and scrutinizes Dean. “Sorry. You called me here for this, correct?”

“Yeah, but let me catch my breath, all right?” Dean answers with a laugh.

Almost dejectedly, Cas rolls over and falls on his back next to Dean. “This mattress is very comfortable.”

“Thanks. Memory foam. It remembers me.”

“Mattresses don’t have memories.”

“It’s—never mind.” Dean flips on his side and taps Cas’ stubble with his knuckle. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You’ve been off the radar lately, everything all right?”

Cas awkwardly breaks eye contact before climbing on top of Dean again and kissing him.

Well. To be fair, Dean _did_ call him here for this. Whatever bullshit Cas has gotten into this time, Dean’s not going to worry about it. Not right _now_ at least. Sue him, he missed this.

“I can try fucking you, if you’d like. Since we didn’t make it last time,” Cas growls between kisses.

It’s tempting, but Dean doesn’t really want his first time with Cas to be because Cas is trying to distract him.

“No, uh, not today. I’m—I’m a little tired. You think you could…I don’t know, get me off with your feathers again?”

Cas looks like he’s not buying it, but he pulls two of his wings out anyway, strips Dean naked and licks and sucks his way down his whole body, feathers hitting every sensitive spot.

So much for being tired—Dean lasts an hour like that before yelling at Cas to suck him off already. Cas’ mouth is warm and heavy around Dean’s cock, and when he hollows out his cheeks and swirls his tongue impossibly around his mouth, Dean finally comes.

“I can’t stay much longer,” Cas states plainly as he stands and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

“You sure know how to treat a guy after he finishes.”

“Finishes what?”

“You want a tour of the bunker?”

“No, I really should…I need to get—I need to go. Goodbye, Dean.”

“Cas, wait!”

He’s gone before Dean can even sit up in bed.

When Dean comes out of his room an hour later, he finds Sam poring over a stack of books in the library.

“Whoa, you look like shit.”

“Well, thanks, Sammy. Very poetic of you.” Dean slams his mug of coffee down on the table and falls into a chair.

“Was somebody here earlier? I thought I heard—oh god, it was Cas, wasn’t it?”

Dean winces. “Maybe.”

“Dean! We have no clue what’s going on with him! For all we know he could be—”

“I _know._ But dude, come _on.”_ Dean gestures to the room dramatically. “Look at this place. It needed some christening.”

“Gross. Please stop. Did you at least figure anything out from him?”

“Nope. It was kind of a fuck and leave situation.”

“Right. Well, so, uh, I have been mapping out the Men of Letters’ network of hunters, their allies, affiliated groups they worked with…”

“Circa 1958?”

“Yeah. True. Uh, most are dead or defunct, but there’s this one—the Judah Initiative. I think we should check it out.”

Dean doesn’t answer.

“What?”

“I just…I like it here.”

“Oh my god, dude. You’re joking, right?”

“C’mon, Sammy. Lighten up. Spread your legs, move in. No more living out of our car all the time.”

“OK, I get it. You’re excited to have a home base where you can fuck Cas. Now would you please go shower so we can go talk to some rabbis?”

_“Fine.”_

 

Dean is interviewing two chicks in a bar in Pennsylvania when he notices a guy staring at him from across the restaurant. He’s startled at first, if only because he’s in the middle of working and these girls are talking about Nazi necromancers. Plus, he’s fairly certain he saw the same guy checking him out earlier this morning.

He’s absolutely not flustered because the guy is really cute and he’s smiling and waving at him.

Dean knows he’s probably blushing, but he turns back to the girls and tries to focus and when his eyes find their way back over to the guy, he does the only thing he knows to do and winks. The guy’s mouth drops open and he looks down at his drink. Dean tries not to smirk.

“Special Agent Bolan,” Dean greets with his badge in the air.

“Oh, really? Wow, I thought you were like a headhunter or something.”

“You following me because you want to fuck me, or is there another reason?”

The guy looks shocked again, but then he smiles evilly and says, “I was just waiting for you to finish your meeting. I figured we could…”

“What? Oh, um—well, actually…federal investigation. I really shouldn’t…”

The guy runs the tip of his index finger over the back of Dean’s hand to shut him up. “Is that supposed to make you less interesting?”

Dean stares at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Apparently he’s gotten even _worse_ at flirting, which is saying a lot because he was pretty damn bad to begin with.

“No. I—I’m sorry, man. I hope I didn’t…freak you out or anything.” He removes his finger from Dean’s hand and sits back in his chair.

“Wait, no! I mean, uh…I’m not freaked out. It’s just—it’s a federal investigation.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“And I probably shouldn’t…”

“Not even for a few minutes?”

Dean’s staring again, and the guy looks hopeful, and…

Oh, why the hell not.

Dean gestures his head to the bathroom and walks toward it without checking to see if the dude followed.

It’s empty when they get inside, and the guy guides Dean into the handicap stall and pulls his face down for a bruising kiss.

“I’m Aaron.”

“Dean.”

“You want to suck my dick in a shitty bar bathroom, Dean?”

“Yeah.”

It’s been too long since Dean’s had a cock in his mouth. He’s too old to be on his knees on a dirty tile floor, but he doesn’t care. He swallows Aaron down and doesn’t give him any time at all to adjust before he’s giving it all he’s got. The guy is big, but Dean makes sure to get his lips all the way to the base before doing anything else. Somebody walks in at some point and immediately turns around and walks out, and that’s when Dean really starts to rush and manages to make Aaron come in less than five minutes.

He zips the guy up, spits in the toilet and checks them both out before announcing, “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

“Yeah.”

They sneak out the side door of the restaurant, and Dean’s phone rings as Aaron hands him his card and disappears.

“Hey. I think we still got a case.”

“Well, that would explain why I have something stuck to my shoe.”

“You being followed?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s weird. I thought I was being followed earlier. Turned out to be a gay thing.”

“Dean, did you have sex with a potentially dangerous person?”

“I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened on a case. What? It’s not like I’m trying to be the most upstanding fake FBI agent. I’m coming back your way.”

When Dean gets to Sam, he’s greeted by some freaking giant who tosses him around like he’s a child.

And then the fucking blow job guy shows up and says the huge dude’s his golem.

“The rabbi who was murdered—that was my grandfather. That’s why we’re here. When you guys started following up on his case, we started following you.”

“Wait, so—we didn’t have a moment back there?” Dean asks.

“No, man. I was tailing you. Great BJ though, stellar performance.”

“Told you I was being followed. He was my gay thing,” Dean says to Sam, who does not look happy. “It was really good. You had me there. It was very smooth.”

“Yeah, well, smooth is just about all I’ve got. I was serious about giving you my number, though. Not trying to bang you under false pretenses or anything. You’re hot.”

“OK, can we—focus, please?” Sam cuts in.

Aaron winks at Dean, and Dean blushes at the floor.

This is a goddamn joke. Dean’s never going to make it through this case.

 

* * *

 

They’ve been driving for two and a half hours before Sam decides to bring it up.

“So you going to call Aaron?”

“What? You kidding me? He thought we were psychopaths.”

“He was really cool. I mean, it’s cool how he just…took responsibility like that.”

“What else was he supposed to do? It’s not like he wanted _us_ to take the golem.”

“Did you really give him a blow job?”

“Yeah.”

Sam blinks and squints at the road. “You and Cas aren’t exclusive then?”

“Me and Cas aren’t anything as far as I’m concerned.”

“All right.”

“Really? You’re not going to bitch about that?”

“All we’ve been doing lately is bitch at each other. I’m tired.”

Dean doesn’t even respond, and Sam’s glad. Maybe he agrees.

 

They barely even make it back to the bunker before they get a call from Kevin. He sounds like he’s made a breakthrough, so they hop right back on the road and head over to Garth’s boat.

Kevin looks terrible. They can hear him vomiting when they come in, and the whole place smells like a middle school boys’ locker room. There are empty bags of chips and soda cans strewn about the room, and god knows what else under all the stacks of paper.

Sam is angry.

Kevin tells them all about these trials that can close the gates of hell, and while that’s great news, Sam can’t really focus. The kid is killing himself over this, and it’s their fault. Without them, he had gotten out. He had escaped this. He could’ve had a semi-normal life. He could be at home in Michigan with his mom right now. Instead, he’s talking about nosebleeds and strokes like he doesn’t even care if he’s dying.

Dean leaves to go get Kevin some real food, which is nice to see that Dean cares about the kid’s health probably as much as Sam does.

“Hey, Kevin, buddy, you got to slow down.”

“What?”

“Get some shut-eye. Take a day off. Open a window.”

“No. You said nuking hell—that’s how I get out. That’s how I go home.”

“Right. It is, but you can’t live like this.”

"You think I want to? I hate it here. I can't leave because every demon on the planet wants to peel my face off. I can't talk to anyone except you guys or Garth, when he swings by, or my mom. Right? And when she calls, all she does is cry. I just...I need this to be over.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you is all.”

“Worried about me? Like you were for the past year when you wouldn’t answer my calls?”

Sam holds his gaze and finds that Kevin doesn’t look as angry as he sounds. “You know I’m sorry about that. I should’ve…I shouldn’t have left you. I was just—it was—”

“No, stop.” Kevin shakes his head and waves Sam off. “Really, it’s OK. I know you had a valid reason for turning your phone off. I can’t imagine…”

“Imagine what?”

“Living like this for 30 years.”

“Yeah.”

Dean comes back, and that’s where the conversation ends.

Maybe one day Sam will really be able to make it up to the kid.

 

The first trial is to kill a hellhound and bathe in its blood, so therefore the first order of business is to find somebody who made a deal a decade ago.

They end up shoveling manure on a farm in Idaho.

Sam is not an idiot. He knows from the jump that Dean is going to insist on doing the trials himself. Dean doesn’t give a fuck about dying, hasn’t given a fuck in a long time. What he fails to realize is that it matters to _Sam_ if Dean dies, so he’s not going to let it happen. Whichever one of them does the trials, they are going to fucking survive it.

“So, what's our play?”

“Well, you camp here, figure out who whored their soul. I'm going to go scout the grounds—see if I can't gank Huckleberry Hound before he makes his next move.”

“Wait, you're not going alone, Dean. I'm going to come with you.”

“Wrong.”

“Uh, they're on lockdown, and you need backup.”

“No, I don't.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I need you to be safe, Sam, OK? That's what I need.”

“What? What am I—when are _we_ ever safe?”

“This is different.”

Sam crosses his arms over his chest. “How?”

“Because of the three trials crap. We've been down roads like this before, man—with Yellow Eyes, Lucifer, Dick fucking Roman. We both know where this ends—one of us dies. Or worse.”

“So, what—you just up and decided it's going to be you?”

“I'm a grunt, Sam. You're not. You've always been the brains of this operation.”

“Dean—”

“And you told me yourself that you see a way out. You see a light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. I don't. But I tell you what I do know—it's that I'm going to die with a gun in my hand. Because that's what I have waiting for me—that's all I have waiting for me. I want you to get out. I want you to have a life, become a Man of Letters, whatever. You, with a wife and kids and—and grandkids, living until you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra—that is my perfect ending, and it's the only one that I'm going to get. So I'm going to do these trials. I'm going to do them alone—end of story. You're staying here. I'm going out there. If land shark comes knocking, you call me. If you try to follow me, I'm going to put a bullet in your damn leg.”

“Wait! Dean, stop.” Sam grabs his arm to make him stay. “What the hell is this? If you remember correctly, I _was_ out. I was on my way to your happy ending. _You_ dragged me back in. So I think I deserve an explanation for what the hell changed your mind.”

Dean glares at him and clenches his jaw. “I need to make it up to you.”

“What?”

“All the—all the shit I’ve put you through since I got back from purgatory. I want you to get back what I stole.”

Sam is speechless, so Dean leaves.

Never in a million years did he expect an apology about that.

Sam kills the hellhound anyway.

“Sam, I didn’t pass the test.”

“But I did. And I’m doing the rest of them.”

“Like hell you are!”

“I’m closing the gates. It’s a suicide mission for you.”

“Sam—”

“I want to slam hell shut, too, OK? But I want to survive it. I want to live, and so should you. You have friends up here, family. I mean, hell, you even got your own room now. You were right, OK? I see light at the end of this tunnel. And I'm sorry you don't, I am. But it's there. And if you come with me, I can take you to it.”

“Sam, be smart.”

“I am smart, and so are you. You're not a grunt, Dean. You're a genius—when it comes to lore, to—you're the best damn hunter I have ever seen. Better than me, better than Dad. I believe in you, Dean. So, please—please believe in me, too.”

It’s hard to say, but it feels good to finally get it off his chest. For so fucking long, Sam’s wanted Dean to believe in him, to tell him that he’s doing a good job, that _he’s_ good.

Dean lets him finish the first trial.

It nearly kills him.

 

* * *

 

Weeks go by.

The bunker naturally makes them slow down a little. No point in looking for case after case when they have somewhere besides a motel to go back to. They haven’t talked about the trials since Sam completed the first one, and they haven’t seen Cas.

Dean knows his brother is not doing well. Every day he looks more tired, more hopeless. They’re a far cry from the Sam at the barn who said he would _bring Dean into the light._ What a fucking joke.

Dean hasn’t prayed in a while. He knows something is wrong with Cas, and he’s not just going to pretend like everything is fine and call him down for sexual favors every now and again. But it’s been weeks since he’s heard from him, and sometimes he really fucking wished Cas would be the one to contact _him._

Sometimes he just forgets that Cas is an ancient being, a celestial creature who’s probably mentioned in the goddamn Bible. There are centuries’, maybe even millennia’s worth of memories and battles and orders in Cas’ mind, of following God’s will and not questioning anything. The number of things he’s seen and done, the people and angels and creatures he’s encountered—there’s no telling how vast his experience extends.

So for Dean to feel slighted when Cas doesn’t call is just…

Castiel is a lot of things, but he will never be Dean’s—his boyfriend or something. Just because he’s for some reason interested in Dean now doesn’t mean he always will be. Dean is probably just a name on a long list of people Cas cared about at one point or another. Dean has overestimated his importance before, and he doesn’t plan on doing it again. There's a little voice in the back of his mind, though, that nags him whenever he undervalues himself to Cas. _I pick you. Every time. Even when you're not you anymore._ Maybe the nonexistent Cas of 2014 was just blowing smoke out of his ass.

_Cas, you got your ears on? Listen, I know I haven’t talked to you in a while, and you know I hate asking for stuff. But this is about Sam, so I need you to hear me. We are going into this deal blind, and I don't know what's ahead or what it's going to bring for Sam. Now, he's covering pretty good, but I know that he is hurting, and this one was supposed to be on me. So, for all that we've been through, I'm asking you...you keep a lookout for my little brother, OK?_

Dean looks around his room. It feels quieter than it was before, more suffocating.

_Where the hell are you, man?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referenced verse: [Revelation 9:7-11](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=revelation+9%3A7-11&version=NIV)


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episodes 17-19 of season 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Megstiel. The first part of this was difficult to write without doing a kind of omniscient third person POV, which I'm mentioning because it's kind of confusing and I haven't done that before.
> 
> Also, this is the first of many chapters where I considered renaming this fic "Fuck you, Buckleming."

The first hundred or so include both Sam and Dean.

Sam is always the first to die, and eventually Castiel starts ignoring him completely. Stabs him through the heart without even looking at him. He barely notices when Sam stops showing up entirely. Not that he doesn't care for the younger Winchester, but it's just...different.

Naomi does not understand who Dean Winchester is. Cas becomes increasingly more frustrated with each imitation he kills, if only because he misses his Dean. His real Dean. Naomi does not know how to program a real Dean.

She tries, though. By the low four hundreds, Dean is beginning to resemble himself. He is self-loathing, self-sacrificing, angry and gentle, scared and brave. However, something is off with each variation.

The first one that kisses Cas then tries to kill him. Nope, not Dean. It’s easy to kill this one.

Another gets angry, yells at Cas for betraying them again. Cas drops his blade. Then the man says, “Yeah, that’s right, you’ll always pick me first,” and sure, it’s Dean’s voice, but those words would never come out of _his_ Dean’s mouth, so it is easy to pick his blade back up.

The changes become subtler by the upper 700s. A misplaced smirk, a shift in the eyes. One Dean calls Cas “honey” and doesn’t do that Dean thing where his face tenses like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say that. Grabs his hand but doesn’t squeeze. Winks at him without blushing and looking down at the floor after.

By the time they hit the 900s, Castiel has become an expert at killing fake Deans.

Of course, that’s not the point of this experiment. Naomi intends to create a machine out of Cas, a Dean killing machine. Instead, she creates a “spot the real Dean” machine. 

Hammering the nails into her own coffin, as it were. 

When she deems him ready, all “ready” means is that Castiel is able to recognize that Dean is fake within half a second of contact.

Neither of them know this. Cas, obviously, returns to earth without any knowledge of the faulty programming in his head. Naomi, less obviously, allows him to return without any knowledge that the programming is faulty.

 

* * *

 

“Wait a second, Cas. How about you answer some questions first. Like where the hell have you been?”

“You heard me, didn’t you?”

“You prayed to him?”

“Yes, I heard you. But that’s not why I’m here.”

Cas explains that he’s been hunting the second half of the demon tablet by interrogating demons that might know the whereabouts of Lucifer’s crypts.

When he goes to the kitchen to continue his search, Dean says, “Well, he puts the ‘ass’ in ‘Cas,’ huh?”

“He’s definitely off.”

“Off? He hasn’t been right since he got back from purgatory. We still don’t know how he got out of there.”

“I don’t know, Dean. If he’s so sketchy, then why were you praying to him? Or better yet, why were you sleeping with him less than a month ago?”

“I don’t know, Sammy. Why are you coughing up blood and not telling me about it?”

“You know, I can hear you both. I am a celestial being,” Cas states from the other side of the door, effectively ending Sam and Dean’s conversation. 

Not five minutes later, Cas kills a demon while she’s in the middle of giving them valuable information. He then disappears without explaining a single thing to the Winchesters.

When they find Meg, Naomi very nearly urges Castiel to kill her.

Cas asks if he has to.

He backtracks and makes her sound useful instead of revealing that he has affection for her.

Naomi allows him to keep her alive.

Meg tells them it’s an angel tablet they’re looking for and takes them to the general location of where it is, but it is up to them to figure out which crypt is the right one.

“Clarence, let’s let the boys do their work. Why don’t you come take care of me, and I’ll put it on your tab? You owe me a few months’ worth of caretaking, remember?”

Cas nods and accepts Meg’s hand when she offers it back to him. Sam and Dean don’t even notice.

“These wounds have festered,” Cas says once they’re seated comfortably inside the house.

“You really do know how to make a girl’s nethers quiver, don’t you?”

“I am aware of how to do that. Although I have more experience with a man than with any girls.”

“That Dean fun to toss around in the sack?” she asks before taking a swig of gin straight from the bottle.

“I don’t know about any sacks, but he is fun, yes.”

“So you’re off the market then, huh?”

“I don’t—”

“You’re much cuter when you’re shutting up. So, which Cas are you now? Original make and model or crazy town?”

“I’m just me.”

“So your noodle’s back in order?”

“Yeah, my…noodle remembers everything. I think it’s a pretty good noodle.”

Meg raises an eyebrow at Cas. “Really? You remember everything?”

“If you’re referring to the pizza man, yes, I remember the pizza man. And it’s a good memory.”

They share a look—fondness maybe—and then Cas is leaning forward and Meg is leaning forward and their lips meet in the middle. Maybe it’s a little strange, and maybe it would be better if the human vessels were not in the way. Nonetheless, it is a sweet kiss, more meaningful to the both of them than the last one they shared. 

When they pull apart, they stay close together as Meg asks, “You ever miss the apocalypse?" 

“No, why would I miss the end of times?”

“I miss the simplicity. I was bad. You were good. Life was easier. Now it's all so messy. I'm kind of good, which sucks. And you're kind of bad, which is actually all manner of hot. We survive this...I'm going to order some pizza and we're going to move some furniture around. You understand?” 

“No, I…Wait, yes, I—” Cas cuts himself off with kissing her again.

He surges forward onto the couch and pushes her all the way back. It’s wildly inappropriate at a time like this, but nothing makes any sense at all lately anyway. Cas is discreetly slipping his hand under the waistband of her jeans when they’re interrupted by a loud cough from the doorway. 

Cas moves back to his seat without looking over at the door. He doesn’t need to see the look on Dean’s face.

“Do I need to give you two a minute, or can we get this show on the road?” Dean asks coldly.

“Looks like somebody’s jealous,” Meg answers in a singsong voice as she adjusts herself and sits up. “We’re coming.”

The drive is deafeningly quiet. Jealousy pours out of Dean like something tangible in the atmosphere, and Sam coughs several times. Meg makes eyes at Cas, and Cas elects to ignore her.

Just as Naomi planned, Dean and Cas go into the crypt together while Meg and Sam hang back outside.

Sam tells Meg about Amelia. Meg tells Sam she loves Cas.

“You ever going to tell him?” Sam asks.

“What’s the point? He’s a little busy shacking up with your big bro.”

“I don’t know if they’re…”

“Oh, please. Just because they aren’t using the B-word doesn’t mean they aren’t gaga over each other. I know my place.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Sam says, “Well, I still think you should tell him. He likes you, too.”

Inside the crypt, Dean and Cas argue over what to do with the tablet. This is the moment Dean truly starts to mistrust Castiel as much as he did during the Leviathan fiasco.

In heaven, Castiel attempts to reason with Naomi. He tells her Dean is a good man. He wants to tell her so much more—he’s a good man, he’s the _best_ man, he doesn’t deserve this, he deserves to be loved and taken care of and treated with dignity and respect. He doesn’t tell her any of these things.

Dean asks Cas how he got out of purgatory. Oh. So that really is why he has been acting wary since Cas’ return.

“There has to be another way,” Cas pleads with Naomi.

“You have done this a thousand times, Castiel. You’re ready. Kill him. Then take the tablet and bring it home, where it belongs.”

You have done this a thousand times.

A thousand times.

You have done this.

Castiel has murdered a thousand Deans.

Why is this one any different? 

“Just tell me how you got out of purgatory—for the first time since you got back, be honest with me, and this is yours.”

Dean is too sure, too confident. The jealousy still radiates off of him, but it is mixed with something else—resentment. He feels betrayed, and it’s making him cold.

Castiel is confused. He feels as if he has been as honest as possible with Dean since he returned. Confused about a lot of circumstances, but as honest as his memory will serve. Why is Dean bringing all of this up now? Why won’t he hand him the tablet?

“I can’t believe I jumped back into bed with you, you sorry son of a bitch—”

Castiel cuts Dean off with a punch to his face. There is a cracking sound, and Dean drops to his knees. He still holds the tablet.

“This isn’t right,” Cas says anxiously to Naomi. He can feel a panic attack rising in him. He learned what they feel like from Dean.

“Do you realize what that tablet can do for us?” Naomi is beginning to wonder if she miscalculated the lengths to which Castiel cares about Dean.

“I…” 

“For heaven?”

“I won’t hurt Dean.”

“Yes. You will. You are.”

Castiel’s arm continues to swing up and down, up and down. Each hit lands. Crack. Crack. Crack.

“Cas, fight this! This is not you! Fight it!”

Crack. Crack.

Up, down.

This is not how the training prepared him. Castiel was taught how to recognize and kill fake Deans. So far, this Dean has shown no signs of being fake.

So why is he being ordered to kill him?

“What have you done to me?” Cas holds his head in his hands and tries to focus. Everything is shaking and blurry and upside down. Breathe in, breathe out.

“Just relax, Castiel. Let your vessel do what you know deep down is the right thing.”

“What have you done to me, Naomi?” 

“Who’s Naomi?”

Dean. That’s Dean’s voice. Dean is real. Real Dean.

Naomi does not have time for this. “What have I done to you? Do you have any idea what it's like out there? There's blood everywhere, and it's on your hands. After everything you did—to us, to heaven. I fixed you, Castiel. I fixed you!”

 _Fixed._ Fixed, programmed—programmed to kill fake Deans. Has no idea how to compute killing real Dean.

_“Cas!”_

He breaks Dean’s arm. The tablet falls to the ground. Crack.

“You want it? Take it! But you’re going to have to kill me first! Come on, you coward. Do it. Do it!”

Crack. 

“Please,” Cas says to Naomi. He feels much calmer now.

“End this, Castiel.”

Any sign. Any sign at all that this is another fake Dean. The wires in Castiel’s brain are snapping. 

“Cas. This isn’t you. This isn’t you.”

No fake Dean ever tried to tell Cas who he was.

There were a couple—a few who said, “You’re just as bad as you were when you took in all those Leviathan,” “I can’t believe I decided to trust you again,” “You never learn, do you?” But not one of them tried to plead with Cas to know his own identity. To know himself as someone who does not betray and kill Dean Winchester. That is not who Castiel is. 

_“Bring me the tablet!”_

A pounding begins in Cas’ head. He wishes he was not confined to his vessel.

“Cas. Cas, baby. I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me. Cas. It’s _me_. We’re family. We need you. I need you.”

Real Dean. 

The programming in Castiel’s brain force quits.

 

* * *

 

“Cas. Cas? No. Cas. Cas!”

Dean relaxes once he realizes Cas is healing him, not killing him. The relief floods over him and pours out. _Cas._ His Cas.

“I’m so sorry, Dean.” The words are not enough.

“What the hell just happened?”

Castiel drops to his knees and pulls Dean against his chest. They rock back and forth several times.

“Naomi. She—she’s an angel. She’s been controlling me since I got back from purgatory. She’s the one who pulled me out. She—she just—”

“Whoa, hey, Cas, it’s OK.” Dean readjusts their position so that he’s holding Cas now.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—" 

“Shh, it’s all right, buddy.” He rubs a reassuring hand into the angel’s back, in all the places he knows wings would be. “What broke the connection?”

“You’re real.”

“What?”

“Fake Deans—she only taught me how to kill fake Deans.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that.

Cas eventually pulls back and announces, “I have to protect this tablet now.”

“From Naomi?”

“Yes. And from you.”

“From me? What are you talking about?”

Cas disappears.

“Cas? Cas! Goddamn it.”

“Dean! Dean, where’s Cas?” Sam asks, barreling into the crypt.

“He’s gone. Meg?”

“We got to go— _now.”_

 

* * *

 

Kissing boys is all right. Of course, Krissy’s never actually kissed a boy in, like, a _real_ situation or anything. She’s only kissed Aiden two or three times, and during those times she was way more focused on the vampires she was ready to kill than on the tongue in her mouth. But, truthfully, she’s actually really curious what it would be like to kiss a boy and, you know, _not_ be thinking about murder during it.

Maybe not Aiden though. He won’t fucking back off and it’s really annoying. They’re in the middle of a vamp case and all he can think about is trying to get in Krissy’s pants. Asshole.

Lucky for her, she gets to work surveillance on this case instead of actually being where the action is—which she’s totally not bitter about at all. Just as she’s getting the surveillance set up and running, some unexpected guests walk into her room. 

“Hey, Krissy.”

Dean fucking Winchester. _Great._

 

* * *

 

Sam doesn’t know what happened in the crypt.

What he does know is that Dean drove 30 miles over the speed limit the entire drive back to the bunker. He shut the radio off after the first 10 miles. They sat in silence the whole way. When they got back to the bunker, Dean stormed off to his room and didn’t emerge for 12 hours.

Sam doesn’t know what happened in the crypt, but he could guess.

After two days of silence, Dean comes into the library and drops a newspaper on Sam’s keyboard and says the deaths recorded sound “vampy” to him.

“Listen, if you want to take a knee on this one if you’re not feeling up to it…”

“What?” 

“You know, with the trials.”

“Just fucking say it, Dean.”

“Are you OK?”

Oh. He didn’t expect Dean to sound…scared. “I’m fine.” There’s a long pause before Sam asks, “Are _you_ OK?”

“Me?”

“Um, yeah. It looks like—like Cas dinged you up pretty good.”

“And?”

“And…I just wanted to make sure you’re OK. You know, I said I would kill either of you if you—”

“Are we about to discuss my feelings?”

“If that’s what you want to talk about, sure.” Sam was actually thinking about the fact that Cas nearly murdered his brother, but if Dean’s feelings are hurt more, then yeah, they should talk about it.

“OK. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I go get some, uh, herbal tea. And you can find some cowboy junkies on the dial.”

“Eat me, Dean.”

“You coming on this case or not?" 

Sam tosses the newspaper back at Dean and sighs. “Yeah." 

Less than 24 hours later, they’re standing in Krissy Chambers’ hotel room with a gun pointed at them.

 

* * *

 

“Krissy, where’s your dad?”

“Dead. Well, let’s do this again, like, never. We got this.”

Krissy really does not have time for these pseudo dads to be meddling in her and her friends’ business. There’s nothing they can do that she, Aiden and Josephine can’t do themselves. Or at least that’s what she tells herself when they kill the vampire they were tracking.

“So you’re going to have to catch me up. What—did your dad, uh—he couldn’t quit the life, could he?”

Krissy considers lying, telling Dean that no, he couldn’t and yes, they kept hunting right after the vetalas. He went down in the middle of a fight, guns blazing. That would’ve been easier. The truth spills out of Krissy’s mouth before her brain can catch up. “No, he did. For a while, it was amazing. We had dinner every night at a table. We watched TV, went on walks. Even went to the mall.”

“And then?” 

“And then…I woke up one morning and found him dead. His throat ripped out.” It doesn’t hurt as much as it should to say it.

“Well, I’m sorry.”

Dean’s not very good at apologies. He keeps asking questions and keeps trying to convince Krissy that she needs to get out of this life right now, that she’s too young to be doing this, that she needs to have a normal childhood blah blah blah. That all went to hell when her dad died.

The flannel brothers, of course, go with them back to Victor’s house and isn’t that just fucking great. Get all the fake dads together to fight over the kids. What fun.

Krissy tells Victor she’s going to her room to type up a report about the hunt, which Victor thinks takes longer than 10 minutes to do. She can hear him and the Winchesters talking downstairs, but she really doesn’t feel like straining to eavesdrop. So instead, she knocks on Josephine’s door.

“Smoke?” Krissy asks, heading toward the already open window. 

“God, yeah,” Josephine replies, grabbing a bowl out of the bottom drawer of her desk and following Krissy out onto the roof.

They get high mostly in silence, out of some sort of respect for the fact that Josephine killed a vamp tonight. After about half an hour, Krissy lies on her back and stares up at the sky.

“What’s Aiden doing?” Josephine asks.

“Hell if I know.”

“I thought you liked him.”

“I’d rather hang out with you.” Fuck. That came out a lot more sincere than she intended.

Josephine doesn’t respond, picks the pipe back up instead.

“What do you think they’re talking about downstairs?” Krissy says after a few minutes.

“I don’t know, you’re the one who knows the Calvin Klein dudes. Which, by the way, how did _that_ happen? You and that Dean guy seem pretty…”

“Oh my god, gross. No. He’s _old._ He just—we worked a case together a couple years back. He helped me out and told me to quit hunting, and now he’s doing the same thing again.”

Josephine shrugs. “Doesn’t mean you don’t have a crush on him.”

“Seriously, _gross.”_

“Want to skip last period tomorrow, go out for lunch instead?”

“Yeah.”

“Just me and you again, no Aiden?”

Krissy considers it for a moment. “Yeah.”

But the next day right before lunch, Krissy gets called to the office at school. She gets sent home for an “emergency.”

Victor’s found the vamp that killed her dad.

Of course, when they get to the cabin where the girl is hiding out, Dean is already there like the fucking asshole he is.

The next few hours are all a blur. 

Krissy goes from hating the Winchesters’ guts to listening as Victor tries to justify how _he_ killed all of their families. He wanted some—some kind of super hunter generation, starting with Krissy, Aiden and Josephine. Krissy doesn’t want to believe what she’s hearing, she doesn’t want to believe anything. Victor _hired_ a vampire to turn innocent people that they would later kill? _Victor hired a vampire to kill all their families?_

She could kill him. She could fucking put a bullet right in his face and not feel an ounce of regret about it.

But for some strange reason, it’s Dean’s voice that stops her. Dean’s conviction. Dean’s ridiculous moral compass commanding that they don’t kill people. _We_ don’t kill people.

Why Krissy trusts a guy she met one time over the guy that’s been raising her for the past year or so, she’ll never know. But she’s glad she does.

Victor kills himself. Krissy doesn’t mourn him at all.

“Kids, get the girl. Sam, help them with the cure. I’ll handle…these two,” Dean announces, walking toward Victor and the nearly dead vamp.

Krissy would love to kill that vampire properly herself, but she knows it’s not worth it. Revenge is not worth it. So she follows Sam out of the house and tries not to focus on what Dean’s doing.

After about an hour, she stops shaking. Her hands still feel a little twitchy, but she supposes that might not go away for a while. She’s already had PTSD for a long fucking time, so she knows the drill. Fortunately for her, she manages to keep it together while she says bye to Dean.

“Proud of you." 

“Shut up before I punch you.”

“OK. Whenever you're ready, we'll be in the car.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re coming with us. We’ve got a sweet lair back in Kansas, plenty of room. We’ll take care of you.”

Krissy’s heart drops. Of all the things Dean could’ve said, she was not expecting that. “Look, I hate how we were put together, but...I can't deny that it feels right. And why should I let Victor ruin that, too?”

“So, what you're saying is that you like that boy over there and you want to stay?”

“What? Aiden? No. I mean, he's like my brother. It's nothing like that.”

Dean squints and looks over at Aiden and Josephine. “So the girl then?”

_“What?”_

He waves her off. “Never mind. You give me a call when you’re ready to move in with us, all right?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And hunting?”

“We won’t go looking for it. But if any monsters show up around here, they better look out.”

“OK. Good.”

“Really? I thought I would have to fight you way more on that.”

“Well, you’re right. You’re not a kid anymore. You can make your own decisions.”

Krissy straightens up. “You’re all right for an old guy.”

“I’m really not that old.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and then Dean holds out his fist for a fist bump like he did the last time they saw each other. Krissy instinctively kisses his cheek instead. Yeah, so she likes Dean. Whatever.

“Take care, Dean.”

 

* * *

 

The second trial requires that they retrieve an innocent soul from hell and send them to heaven.

Piece of cake.

Dean wants to go. He wants to go with Sam, and he wants to get Bobby out of hell because Bobby is not supposed to be in hell in the first place. But Dean can’t go because _Sam_ is the one who has to do all the trials, _Sam_ is the one killing himself.

According to Dean’s calculations, Bobby has been in hell for approximately 124 years. He drinks himself stupid when he realizes this. He drinks more than he drank a week ago when he was pissed and heart—when he was pissed at Cas. And that’s saying a lot.

They torture a demon into telling them that there are rogue reapers that have access to hell. Sam leaves pretty much immediately, so Dean drinks. And drinks. He knows he should be on alert, but he just doesn’t have it in him. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s dialed Benny’s number.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, uh, how you doing, man? You still—you doing all right?”

“Dean, I thought…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I just. I—you know.”

“Are you drunk, brother?”

Dean hiccups away from the speaker. “I wish you were here.”

“Listen, Dean. You should really call me back when you’re sobered up.”

“Why? What’s—hic—wrong? Did something happen? Are you hurt, Benny?” He knows he’s getting hysterical, but he’s too drunk to do anything about it.

“Shh, no, buddy, it’s OK. I’m all right. Why don’t we…meet and talk, all right?”

“OK. OK, yeah, sure. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

The second Dean hangs up, his brain comes back online and starts kicking him for being so goddamn stupid. _Benny?_ Why the fuck did he call Benny.

He stops drinking.

He doesn’t sleep.

In the morning, he goes back to Garth’s boat to visit Kevin. The kid’s so fucking paranoid Dean hardly knows what to do. He’s in the middle of cooking eggs when an uptight lady in a clean pantsuit appears right in front of him.

“We haven’t been formally introduced, Dean. My name is Naomi.”

“Oh, I know who you are. And I know what you did to Cas when he got out of purgatory.”

“After I rescued him from purgatory, you mean, at the cost of many angels’ lives.”

 _I was supposed to rescue him, you bitch._ “You fucked with his head and had him spy on us.”

“Well, it is true that I have spoken with Castiel many times, trying to reach out to him, trying to help him. Dean, you must have noticed how purgatory changed him. I mean, he's been unstable in the past, but I was shocked at how damaged he is now.”

“Stop. OK? Don’t—don’t try to spin this. You think I don’t know you brainwashed him into trying to kill me? How long did that take, huh? To convince him to do that?”

Naomi stops short at that. Dean might not be confident about a lot of things, but one thing he’s pretty damn sure of right now is his worth to his angel.

“Hmm. Yeah, I suppose that is how he would hear it. When I learned of the angel tablet, I did tell Castiel to get it at any cost. That's my job—to protect heaven. I'm a warrior, just as you are. What would you expect? And now Castiel is in the wind with a hydrogen bomb in his pocket, and I—I'm scared for all of us.”

What a fucking joke. “Save it. See, I don’t trust angels, which means I don’t trust you.”

“And yet you haven't warded this place against us. I know. You're hoping Castiel will return to you. I admire your loyalty, and I understand the lengths to which you and he were…involved. I only wish he felt the same way. I know you don't want to believe it, Dean, but we're on the same side—shutting the gates of hell, bringing Castiel in from the cold. Take a moment. Think about what I've said.”

“Bite me.”

“Oh. You know the way to hell is through purgatory, right? See. We can be of help to one another.”

“Yeah, right. That’s why Cas and Crowley spent a whole fucking year looking for a way into purgatory when they could’ve just called up any old reaper. Sure, I’ll buy that.”

“I would be careful if I were you. When was the last time you talked to that reaper who’s supposed to be bringing your brother back, huh?”

She disappears before he can say anything else.

OK. This is fine. Dean can handle this. Shit, what if she’s right?

He immediately goes back to the meeting place where the reaper appeared to them. Dean whispers the incantation to summon him, but nothing happens.

Dean’s phone rings.

“You more sober now?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Benny, I’m good. How you been? For real this time.”

“Oh, you know. I get by.”

“I guess I let you down, huh?” Add Benny to the list.

“Look, um, I’m just—I’m happy as hell to hear from you, to hear your voice, Dean.”

“You might change your mind about that.”

“Why? What you mean?”

“Benny, I got to ask you a favor. It’s a big one. Just, uh, let’s meet up like we said, OK?”

 

* * *

 

Benny doesn’t know how to say no to Dean. In purgatory, he didn’t expect to actually like the guy. He just needed him so he could hitch a ride back up on solid ground. It wasn’t his fault that Dean was so…likable. Stubborn son of a bitch, but likable all the same. Every monster in that godforsaken land was jealous of Benny. Every single one. Dean was a beacon of light, and everybody wanted a taste. They all wanted to get just a glimpse of the _beautiful human,_ touch the hem of his tunic and be healed sort of thing. Benny’s the one who protected him from all that.

But when they got back up to earth and went their separate ways, Benny realized something pretty quick. Even when he had a mission to get revenge and find Andrea, he was…thinking about Dean. The guy was the only friend he had for a long, long time, and there’s really no changing that just because he’s got fresh air in his lungs and craves blood again. Benny has never really gotten used to being back on earth, being away from Dean. He doesn’t really—he doesn’t have anything to do. There’s no purpose. And then when Dean broke contact, well…

He deserves to be back in purgatory.

When he finds Dean in an alley, the man wraps him in a hug with tears in his eyes and then kisses him squarely on the mouth without even hesitating. Benny goes with it.

“I missed you, man.”

“All right, tell me what’s going on here. Not like you to call me here for old time’s sake.” Benny doesn’t mean to sound bitter.

“It’s my brother. He—I think he might be stuck in purgatory.”

“Come again?”

“If you want nothing to do with this, I completely understand.”

“You saying what I think you’re saying?”

Dean nods, and Benny’s heart sinks.

“Wow. When Dean Winchester asks for a favor, he’s not screwing around.”

“Benny, sending you back there is the last thing I ever wanted to do. You have to understand.”

“I know. I know.”

“You got access to the place.”

“By ‘access,’ you mean getting beheaded.”

Dean hangs his head. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s too much. It’s not like I’ve exactly been there for you lately.”

Shit. If he could’ve said no before, he can’t now. “What? Oh, come on, Dean, you know I love a challenge.”

“You’re serious?”

“Hey, he’s your brother. I say let’s do this.”

“I owe you.”

“Oh, you don't owe me nothing. Truth is, uh, I could use a break from all this.”

“It really been that tough?”

“I'm not a good fit, Dean. Not with vampires and, for sure, not with the humans. I don't belong. And after a while, that starts to wear on you. Right? Cry me a river. Like you need to listen to this.”

Somehow, weirdly, Dean looks like he might understand what Benny’s talking about. “Well, when you get back up here, we're going to fix all that, OK?”

“When I get back?”

“Yeah, you find the portal, and you ride out of purgatory with Sam just like you did with me, OK? As soon as I send you back, I'm going to haul my ass up to Maine, and I'm going to be waiting there for you when you get topside. I know—I know what it’s like not to feel like you belong anywhere, like you’re somewhere in between and straddling a line for dear life. I can help you with it, man. I can—I can be there for you.”

“Yeah. That sounds like a plan, chief. Let's get on with it.”

“You sure about this?”

“Not my first rodeo, man.”

They hug again before Dean grabs the machete, and when Dean pulls away he hesitates like he wants to kiss again. He doesn’t.

“Can I ask you something, Benny?”

“Now’s your chance.”

“Did you ever—you ever fall off the wagon?”

No sense lying now. “There’s some questions you don’t want answered, brother.”

Dean takes a shuddered breath, lifts the machete, and everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

Not fully trusting Naomi’s admission, Dean rounds up a reaper and by some miracle convinces her to search hell for his brother and Bobby. Apparently Sam and Dean aren’t the only ones who want the gates of hell closed. So he’s got his bases covered, and now it’s just a waiting game in the forest where purgatory pops people out. See who shows up.

Of course, that gives Dean a solid four hours of sitting in the dark wondering if Sammy’s OK and regretting everything that happened with Benny.

_There’s some questions you don’t want answered, brother._

If he had just—if Dean had just been a better friend. Or if Benny had…loved him back. In _that_ way. If Sam hadn’t hated him. If, if, if. Dean could blame anybody and everybody.

Or he could just suck it up and admit that he is fucking terrible at relationships. First Lisa, now Benny. If he has to say goodbye to Cas in the same way…

_Cas, you son of a bitch, where the hell you been? You ever coming home?_

He wonders if Cas is ignoring him because he only sends angry, often drunken prayers these days.

“C’mon, Sammy, where the fuck are you?”

As he’s picking at the grass during hour five, there’s a flash of light and suddenly Sam and the reaper are standing right in front of him. On impulse, Dean pulls Sam in for a hug as the reaper disappears.

“So you weren’t in purgatory?”

“What? How would I have been in purgatory?”

“Never mind. You get him out?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he…all right?”

“He’s good, all things considered. Ornery as hell, of course, but—but not a demon.”

A weight drops from Dean’s shoulders. “Good. Let’s put that old man where he belongs.”

Benny’s not coming back. Benny’s not coming back, and Cas is AWOL with the angel tablet. But Sam is here, and they’re doing the second trial and Bobby is going to heaven where he should’ve been all along.

Surprisingly, things could be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8x17 based on [this headcanon](http://deancasheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/113479200791/so-what-if-cas-passed-naomis-test-of-being-able) of mine.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally finishing up season 8 phew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for quite a bit of Megstiel. I know, I know, she's supposed to be dead.
> 
> Also, while Sarah Blake's death on the show pissed me off because of course soopernaturla would bring back a woman just to kill her, I actually liked the chaos of it and the way it framed Crowley as a super horrible villain, so my apologies for fridging her just like the show did.

While Cas travels, he thinks. He thinks about the first time he saw a human laugh ([Abraham,](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+17%3A15-17&version=NIV) when God told him Sarai would bear him a son in her old age), the first time he saw a person killing another ([Cain](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+4%3A6-12&version=NIV) and his brother Abel), the first time he realized the horrific atrocities humans will go to in order to get what they want ([Lot’s daughters](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+19%3A30-38&version=NIV) getting him intoxicated so they could…he doesn't like talking about that one). He thinks about his siblings, and how many of them have died, how many of them have left him, how many of them he failed. He thinks about the Winchesters, all the things they’ve been through together, all that they have accomplished. But mostly, he just thinks.

He is three hours and 22 minutes into a bus trip to Logan, Utah, when a demon sits next to him and says, “Hey there, Clarence,” before he can even think about pulling his knife.

“Meg.”

“You miss me?”

“I thought you were—”

“Dead? Yeah, apparently everyone else did, too. But nope, still alive and kicking with all my horns and everything. Imagine that.”

Cas shifts in his seat and looks at Meg’s reflection in the window, wondering how humans see her. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to help you protect that Rosetta Stone you got hiding somewhere.”

“How did you know—”

“Please, I know you better than anyone. Well, that’s not true, but you know what I mean. Well, you probably don’t know what I mean, but—”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and bares her claws. “Well, too bad. I’m on the run, too, so let’s kiss and make up.”

Cas doesn’t know if she was serious, but he kisses her anyway. He likes kissing Meg.

“Now _there’s_ the Cas I know. So what’s the plan?”

“Biggerson’s.”

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘Biggerson’s?’ You still got some Leviathan swimming around in there?” Meg pokes his stomach with her claw, and Cas tenses. “Um, what the fuck was _that?”_

“I might—I might have the angel tablet shoved beneath my ribcage.”

A few of Meg’s eyes blink. “You really do hate those feathery assholes, don’t you?”

“A number of them, yes. But that’s not why I’m doing this. I’m trying to protect—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Does Biggerson’s still have the turducken? I’ve been meaning to try it.”

 

* * *

 

“You got to let me take care of you, man. You got to let me help you get your strength back.”

“This isn't a cold. Or a fever, or whatever it is you're supposed to feed. This is part of it all. Those first two trials—they're not just things I did. They're doing something to me. They're changing me, Dean.”

“Yeah, and what if that change kills you? What then?”

Sam stares at Dean with wide, pleading eyes and an open mouth. Dean doesn’t have any answers for him.

Both of their phones buzz. It’s an automated email from Kevin saying he’s probably dead.

Dean doesn’t freak out as much as he should. There’s just—there’s too goddamn much going on right now, he just doesn’t have time to panic over the kid he’s stupidly grown fond of over the past year.

After they find out Garth is MIA and get absolutely zero leads on Kevin, Sam jumps right into trying to figure out the last trial _himself._

“Dude.”

Sam looks up from his stack of books.

“Don’t you think we should, I don’t know, go out looking for leads on Kevin or something?”

“Nobody’s heard anything, Dean. We have no idea where to go, and the kid’s probably dead. This is the best option we’ve got for doing the last trial.”

“I don’t care about the trial!”

Sam’s mouth drops open.

“I mean—do you even care at all that Kevin might be dead?”

“Of course I care, Dean. But what do you want me to do?”

Dean shakes his head and turns to leave. “Forget it. Let me know if you find anything.”

 

* * *

 

Santa Fe, New Mexico, is where Naomi catches up to them.

“You have to stop. You have to stop. They said you have to stop…”

Everyone in the entire restaurant is dead except for the server, who is blind and repeating the same phrase over and over. Castiel does not get the chance to heal her before Naomi snaps her neck.

“We were supposed to be their shepherds, not their murderers.”

“Not always, angel. There was that day, back in Egypt, not so long ago, where we slew every first-born infant whose door wasn't splashed with lamb's blood. And that was just PR.”

“Well, I wasn’t there.”

“Oh, you weren’t? Who was it, then, that almost [destroyed Jerusalem](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2+samuel+24%3A16&version=NIV) that one time? Or maybe [killed 185,000 Assyrians](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2+kings+19%3A35&version=NIV) in their sleep? Because I always heard it was you, Castiel.”

Cas turns to get reassurance from Meg, but the demon just shakes her head. “How—how many times have you torn into my head and washed it clean?”

“Frankly? Too damn many. You're the famous spanner in the works. Honestly, I think you came off the line with a crack in your chassis. Even after all the times we’ve reprogrammed you, you have never done what you were told. Not completely. Doubt always creeps in somewhere along the line, most notably in the disgusting number of humans you’ve fallen in love with and risked everything for in the past several thousand years. Oh, what? You thought Dean Winchester was the _first?_ Please, he is in a long line of Cas’ greatest hits. Where is the angel tablet, Castiel?”

Meg says, “Oh, fuck off,” at the same time Cas says, “Bite me,” and then Meg snaps her fingers and she and Cas are in a Biggerson’s on the other side of the country.

“I’m sorry, I just could not listen to one more word out of that manila envelope’s mouth,” Meg explains as they walk outside and look for a bus stop.

“Do you think she was telling the truth?”

“I mean, it sure _sounds_ like you. But what the fuck do _you_ care? Can’t feel guilty about something you can’t remember.”

“Yes, but I wish I could remember.”

“Hey.” Meg stops and grabs Cas’ hand. “The crack in your chassis—there’s a reason for it, all right? You were made different on purpose. Fuck Naomi—you don’t want to be like her and every other robot feather machine, do you?”

Cas smiles tentatively and squeezes Meg’s hand. “Thank you.”

“They know we’re going to Biggerson’s. What do you say we change it up and hit a couple of McDonald’s?”

 

* * *

 

Sam finds out they need to track down a dude named Metatron who is apparently hanging out with Native Americans or something.

When they get to the Two Rivers Motel in Colorado, something changes in Sam. It’s like he’s hearing voices and seeing shit and acting kind of happy drunk. Dean makes him stay put in the room while he goes to investigate the town.

Dean gets a call from Sam and hears a crash before the line goes dead.

Ten minutes later, he finds Sam passed out on the floor in the hallway, his skin on fire. Instinct kicks in, and within minutes Dean is pushing his brother into a bathtub full of ice. Got to save Sammy, must protect Sammy, must take care of Sammy. Whatever it takes.

“He’s here, Dean. Metatron is here. I know it, I can hear him.”

“OK. OK, brother, well let’s go find him.”

Sam can barely walk, but Dean’s there to help him and hold him up and if this is what Sam needs to do right now, then so be it.

“I should be taking you to the ER.”

“They can't do anything for me. You know, I've been remembering things, little things, so clearly. You used to read to me, um, when I was little, I—I mean, really little, from that—from that old, uh, classics illustrated comic book. You remember that?”

“No.” Dean remembers. 

“Knights of the Round Table. Had all of King Arthur's knights, and they were all on the quest for the Holy Grail. And I remember looking at this picture of Sir Galahad, and, and, and he was kneeling, and—and light streaming over his face, and—I remember thinking, uh, I could never go on a quest like that. Because I'm not clean. I mean, I was just a little kid. You think maybe I knew? I mean, deep down, that—I had...demon blood in me, and about the evil of it, and that I'm—wasn't pure?”

Dean can feel his heart sink. “Sam, it’s not your fault.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. Because these trials…they’re purifying me.”

_Purgatory was pure. It made me clean._

Dean’s own words ring in his head like a big, red warning sign. It hits him like a ton of bricks—his little brother just wants to be like him. His little brother wants to make him proud, wants to be and do whatever it is that would make Dean the happiest. Dean came out of purgatory clean and pure, and all it did for him was make him shove his self-righteousness in Sam’s face.

These trials aren’t about closing the gates of hell. This is about Sam trying to make up for all the things Dean’s accused him of in the past year.

 

* * *

 

“You know, we never ordered any pizza and moved some furniture around,” Meg says quietly as they’re riding a bus through Baltimore. The armrest is up between their seats so she can lean into Cas’ side, his arm wrapped around her.

“We can get a hotel room if you’d like,” Cas whispers in her ear.

Meg tenses a little at that. Sure, it’s pretty obvious that she fucking lo—likes this angel or whatever, but she didn’t expect him to agree so readily to fuck her. Instead of answering, she reaches past him to pull the lever on the window to get the bus to stop.

“Come on, angel.”

They don’t exactly have a lot of money, so once they’re out on the street Cas very discreetly flies them directly into an empty hotel room with a fucking king sized bed and silk sheets.

“Goddamn, you don’t mess around,” Meg comments as she takes in the sight, but before she really gets a good look around Cas turns her to him and presses their mouths together. “Oh, OK, all right, we’re doing this.”

“Is this OK?” Cas asks all gruff and commanding but also sweet and sincere in that way that makes Meg lose her goddamn fucking mind.

“Shut up.”

Cas kisses her like neither of them need to come up for air at any point (they don’t), and almost too quickly he’s throwing her t-shirt across the room and pushing his hands down the back of her pants to grab her ass. He even yanks on her tail, which pulls a scream out of her.

“Fucking true form, get in your true form right fucking now,” she breathes, her mouth still right against the angel’s.

“We have to be in the spiritual realm if you—”

“Do it! I don’t care.”

It’s been ages since Meg’s been in the spiritual realm. She forgot how weird it feels, like your body is part of the atmosphere itself, pulling and twisting and not really under your control at all. How everything is bright lights and cool colors, purples and blues mostly, because your thoughts are visible on the color spectrum but everybody’s thoughts here just end up being the same powerful contentedness.

There’s red, though, coming off of Cas, and Meg laughs at the thought that lust has probably never existed in the spiritual realm before now.

They don’t have the required parts here to have sex, but it doesn’t matter. Cas is giant, immense, beautiful, and Meg is a drop in the ocean. She curls around his limbs and smokes out over his heads before running her tail and claws along each of his wings. Their thoughts swirl together to make a bubblegum pink, and Meg laughs again.

It’s hours in human time before Cas flies them back to their vessels and removes the rest of Meg’s clothing. He lays her out on the bed and has a hungry look in his eye as he grabs her hips and dives down to kiss her breasts and abdomen. Meg arches up into the touch and locks a hand in Cas’ hair just to get a grip on reality.

When he goes down on her, her thoughts turn white again. It feels so goddamn holy it’s like his tongue was _meant_ to find her clit. She uses every ounce of demonic strength she’s got to hold out for an hour before finally giving up and hitting her orgasm. When she collapses onto the bed with loose limbs, she doesn’t expect Cas to continue rubbing her thighs and tending to her with his tongue until she’s not so sensitive anymore.

“You’re full of surprises, Clarence.”

“I am aware of that.” His voice is rough and even deeper than usual, and he slides up next to Meg and curls on his side so he can stare at her.

“You do this kind of stuff with Dean?”

“I don’t think—”

The door bursts open. Manila envelope and her lackeys bust in like they own the place, and Meg rolls her eyes. “Great timing, guys. Excellent work,” she says as she sits up in bed and does absolutely nothing to cover her naked body.

“Shut up, demon,” Naomi responds with her eyes trained on Cas. She nods toward one of her goons, and he proceeds to drag Cas to the floor and kick him.

“You’re going to tell us where the tablet is, Castiel.”

“I need to protect it,” Cas replies.

“From the angels?”

“From all of us.”

“I’m just going to have to pull you apart, aren’t I?”

Meg begins to move off the bed, but then there’s a gunshot and the angel kicking Cas falls to the floor, his grace burned out. Crowley stands behind him.

“Do you like it? I had my R&D people melt down one of your angel blades, cast it into bullets. Seems to do the trick,” he says to Naomi. “Let’s see which one of us blinks first.”

He shoots, but Naomi flies out before the bullet gets to her. Crowley turns his attention first to Cas, then he notices Meg and makes a confused face.

“I can see you two were doing very important business before the God squad showed up. Make yourself decent, would you, love?”

Meg grabs her crotch and responds scathingly, “Eat me.”

“I should’ve killed you when I got the chance,” Crowley says noncommittally as he puts a bullet right in Cas’ stomach.

Meg tries to move, tries to get a fucking knife to Crowley’s throat, but she’s locked in place.

“Ah, ah, ah, not so fast. I’m taking this angel. You can stay here and…clean up. Oh, and you may want to move quick. The gunshots might've been heard, after all."

He disappears with Cas before she can respond.

Well, fuck.

 

* * *

 

“How—how far can this go?”

“Shut up.”

“How far can we let it all drop? The charge was left to us, it’s our mission.”

“Do you even know what the mission was? They’ve been in all of our heads.”

“We aren't machines for them to program and reprogram. That wasn't what this was meant to be.”

“Nothing matters.”

“You are so wrong, brother. It all matters.”

They get the tablet out of Cas' chest. It doesn't hurt as badly as it did putting it in. Oddly, the first thing that crosses Cas' mind as he kills his brother is,  _Dean is going to be furious._

 

* * *

 

Dean comes to a screeching halt in the middle of the interstate. Cas looks up just enough to make eye contact with Dean before he completely collapses on the pavement.

“Goddamn it, Cas,” Dean breathes as he slams his door and jog-walks over to the angel. “Where the hell you been?”

“Dean,” Sam scolds from where he’s standing at the car, “Be nice.”

Dean rolls his eyes and squats down next to Cas. “C’mon, buddy,” he says as he reaches out for Cas to try to get him to his feet.

Cas clings to his jacket and stumbles enough to make Dean stumble, too, so after a couple of steps Dean gives up and carries him to the car. Cas keeps a hand fisted in Dean’s shirt, his other arm wrapped tightly around his neck. Dean can feel the angel's heartbeat pounding erratically.

“Missed you, Cas,” Sam says with a smile when they get to the car. Dean rolls his eyes again.

“Give him a break, would you, Dean?” Sam whispers while they drive.

“Why? Why should I cut him any slack? If this was _anybody_ else—”

“It’s not anybody else though. It’s _Cas_.”

“Even if I wasn’t a celestial being, I could still hear you both,” Cas mumbles from the back before coughing as if he’s choking on his own blood.

They shut up after that, and Sam leans back in his seat presumably to fall asleep. Dean turns the radio up.

Then, suddenly there’s a fourth voice in the car and Dean nearly runs off the road.

“Sorry it took me so long to find you. Sucks you had to go to the army surplus brothers here.”

“Meg! What the hell are you doing here? Why are you alive?” Dean shouts.

“Well, I _was_ playing Cas’ sidekick ‘til Scottish douchecanoe showed up and took him. I couldn’t find him until he gave off his Winchester vibes.”

“Winchester vibes?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, you know, like when he’s around you kids it’s, like, super easy to find him if you’ve heard the resonance before. It’s all fluorescent colors and loud bird noises—I’m actually surprised the angels don’t complain about it more often. Anyway, Dean, I know you’ve got your hands full with angsty broken brain over there, so I’ll take care of Clarence.”

“Like hell you will. You’re not coming to the bunker.”

“You want to bet?”

“I swear to god, Meg, if you even think—”

“Aren’t you mad at the angel anyway? That’s the signal you’re sending now at least. How are you supposed to tend to him properly if you’re pissed at him?”

“Oh, like that’s ever made a fucking difference before, you skanky little—”

“Who was it again that took care of him when he was all cuckoo? Oh right, _me._ ”

“Oh my god,” Sam interrupts. “If you two idiots don’t stop fighting over who loves Cas more, I am jumping out of this car.”

It’s silent for a few minutes until Meg says quietly, “I’m staying until Cas is better.”

“Stupid little cockblocking piece of shit,” Dean mutters under his breath.

When they get back to the bunker, Meg doesn’t even give them the chance to open the car door before she teleports Cas inside. Fucking demons.

“Let it go, Dean,” Sam says calmly before Dean can storm inside and make sure they aren’t in _his_ room. “Cas needs help, I need help—having an extra set of hands isn’t such a bad idea.”

Dean storms inside anyway.

The door to one of the guest bedrooms is slightly cracked, so he peeks in to see Meg removing Cas’ clothes for him and examining his wounds.

“You all right with me taking care of you, Clarence, or should I get Dean?” Meg asks gently.

“You’re doing a fine job,” Cas replies.

Meg turns and nods at Dean, and Dean shuts the door behind him. Maybe she’s not _so_ horrible.

In the morning, Cas comes into the library looking a hell of a lot better than he did the day before. Dean lets out a sigh of relief before remembering that he’s pissed at the angel.

“Where’s Meg?” Sam asks.

“After I woke up this morning feeling better, she said she shouldn’t overstay her welcome and left.”

“How…polite of her,” Sam says.

“I’m going to go for a supply run,” Dean announces as he grabs his jacket.

“Dean, I can go with you.”

Dean doesn’t respond. He knows if he responds, it will be a resounding, “Yes, please, Cas, come with me.”

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Cas states.

“For what?”

“For everything.”

“Everything? Like, uh, like ignoring us? Ignoring _me?_ For kicking around with your demon girlfriend and then losing the angel tablet because you didn’t trust me? You didn’t trust _me.”_

“Yes.”

“Yeah. Nah, that’s not going to cut it. Not this time. So you can take your little apology and you can cram it up your ass.”

“Dean, I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Yeah, you always do. How’s that worked out for you?”

Sam clears his throat and changes the subject. It works to get Dean and Cas out of the same room at least. Sam reminds Dean _once again_ that Cas is Cas, and Dean can’t treat him like shit just because he’s mad.

“Besides, we really don’t have time for your fucking soap opera,” Sam says with more bite in his words than he had before.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. He’s still an asshole though.”

 

* * *

 

Cas is feeling a whole lot better, physically speaking, by the time they’ve figured out their next course of action. But then as they’re getting ready to leave the bunker, Dean tells him to “stay put.”

“Sam is more damaged than I am.”

“Yeah, well, you know, even banged up Sammy comes through.”

Sometimes Cas wonders if Dean knows how hurtful his words can be. “Dean, I just want to help.”

“We don’t need your help. Just stay here and—and get better.”

“You don’t have to pretend like you care about me getting better,” Cas says quietly as Dean heads out of the room.

Dean freezes for several seconds before turning back around. He closes the distance between them and is just inches from Cas’ face before he says, “Just because I’m pissed at you doesn’t mean I feel any differently about you, OK?” He grabs the back of Cas’ neck and pulls him forward to kiss his forehead. Then he leaves the room so fast it’s like it didn’t even happen.

Sam just shrugs and gives Cas a sympathetic look.

Well, Cas can at least try to make things a little better. He’s well enough to fly now, and Dean _did_ say they needed to go on a supply run. He knows Dean better than he knows himself (apparently, if what Naomi said is true), so surely he can go out and get all of Dean’s favorite things and maybe that’ll help with the apology process.

Castiel is just about to smite a gas station attendant over pie when Metatron shows up and herds him out of the store.

“Kevin Tran told me about you. According to him, you and I have a lot in common. We're both free thinkers. We're both on heaven's most wanted list. I thought we could socialize, maybe grab a bite.”

“I’m sorry—we can what?” Cas has to jog to keep up with the other angel.

“Look, I’ve been on sabbatical. I’ve been trying to play catch up with what’s going on upstairs, and from what I can see, it’s a total mess, open warfare up there without the archangels.”

“I thought Naomi was running things now.”

“Is that what she told you? I mean, Naomi's a player—don't get me wrong—just one of many. There are factions upon factions, all fighting, betraying each other. It's just a matter of time before they start ripping each other apart. It's all broken.”

“I know, I'm the one who broke it. There was a time when I thought I could lead our people, but I was mistaken. I spilled so much blood. And I've tried to atone for my sins, and I did penance.” Cas takes a deep breath before continuing, “And I…betrayed my fam—friends to protect our secrets, but I've just failed. And now—”

“Look, I know. But now the angels—heaven—need someone to come to the rescue. They need us. Just picture it. We ride to the rescue, save the day, make a great story. The angels are like a big, dysfunctional family. We need to lock them all in a room until we work these problems out—all the factions, you, me—”

“What, like a big family meeting?”

“Exactly. Which is why we have to shut down heaven.”

“What?”

 

* * *

 

“Sarah.”

“Sam? What’s going on?”

Sam’s head is on fire and his whole body feels like it could burst apart at the seams any second now, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about himself because he has to do whatever it takes to protect Sarah Blake.

He could’ve loved her—if things had been different, if the timing had been better. It’s weird, he still thinks about her sometimes even after all these years.

“Can I—could I come inside?” Sam asks tentatively.

Sarah opens the door wider and gestures for him to come in.

They sit awkwardly on the bed next to each other and don’t say anything for an agonizing couple of minutes.

“So are you going to explain—”

“Yeah! Sorry, um, this is just going to sound crazy.”

“Crazy’s still your thing, then?”

Sam huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Um, there’s this guy, Crowley—he’s kind of a, a demon. He’s trying to fuck with me and Dean by…killing people we’ve saved before.”

It doesn’t take long for Sarah to process it. “Oh. I see.”

When Dean comes in, it’s even more awkward. He starts prepping the room while Sam reassures Sarah over and over that they’ll keep her safe. Whatever it takes.

He’s just finished explaining everything when he notices the ring on her left hand. “That’s new.”

“Yeah, I...His name is Ian. He works search and rescue. Guess I have a type. Our daughter, Bess—she'll be 1 in a month.”

“That’s, uh, great. I mean, I’m really happy for you.” He knows he doesn’t sound happy. He’s more just…confused. He could’ve had all this. Instead, he’s still out fighting monsters with Dean. He's confused because he doesn't regret it.

“Thanks, Sam. And what about you?”

He doesn’t hold back his laugh. “Me?” He gestures to the room. “Pretty much the same I guess.”

“No, you're not. You're not the same. Look, it's been years, and I can't even imagine the things you've been through. But I don't know. You just seem...more focused, confident, like—like you know what you want. You grew up, Sam.”

On instinct, he looks over at Dean, but Dean is busy putting salt on the window frame. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.”

Dean’s phone rings.

Crowley counts down.

Sarah begins to choke on seemingly nothing.

They tear the room apart searching for a hex bag as Crowley’s voice fills the space.

“I thought of sending in a few of my bruisers, really letting them go to town. But then, well, trial one was kill a hellhound. Trial two was rescue a soul from the pit. So, from here on, I'm going to keep everything hell-related away from you. Safe side and all that. Plus, I just thought it seemed fitting. From what I understand, Sammy took that bird's breath away. What's the line? ‘Saving people, hunting things—the family business.’ Well, I think the people you save, they're how you justify your pathetic little lives. The alcoholism and prostitution and general moral failure, the collateral damage, the pain you've caused—the one thing that allows you to sleep at night, the one thing is knowing that these folks are out there, still out there happy and healthy because of you, you great, big, bloody heroes!”

“No. No, no, no, no. Please no.” Sam runs over to Sarah’s side and tries to keep her head up, tries to see if there’s _anything_ he can do to help her, anything at all.

She can’t even say anything as the life drains out of her.

“You want to keep those people alive. I want complete and utter surrender. The tablet, the trials—you'll give them up, or we'll keep doing this dance. Your choice, my darlings.”

Dean throws the phone into the wall.

The hex bag falls out of it.

 

* * *

 

Crowley is threatening to kill Jody Mills when Sam and Dean tell him that they’ll take his stupid fucking deal, but only on the condition that they get the angel tablet in exchange for the demon tablet.

They were ecstatic when Metatron found Kevin alive and mostly well, but Dean wants nothing more than to get this kid out of this mess as soon as possible. Seeing his death message really put things in perspective.

So they get the demon tablet from the prophet and take him back to the bunker to keep him safe.

As Dean hands him the keys, he says, “All right, listen. This is a secret lair. You understand me? No keggers.”

“Thanks, Dad, but I don’t have any friends.”

“Yeah, well, just lay low. Who knows? You’ll be a mathlete again before you know it.” Dean pats him on the shoulder reassuringly (OK, yeah, maybe he _is_ a dad) before he and Sam turn to leave.

“You guys?” Kevin calls. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Yeah. If only they were telling Kevin the truth and were _actually_ going to make this deal with Crowley.

What they _actually_ do instead is trap Crowley with devil’s trap handcuffs and ship him to an old church where Sam can complete the final trial.

“How you feeling?” Dean asks once he’s prepped Crowley for Sam.

“Honestly, for the first time in a long time, it feels like we’re going to win. I’m good.”

Dean can’t help but smile at the shy laugh Sam lets out. “All right, well, no dancing in the end zone until we’re finished. Your blood’s supposed to be purified, isn’t it? You ever done the ‘forgive me, father’ before?”

“Well, once, when we were kids. Which is why I have no clue what to say now.”

Don’t do it, Dean. Do not do it. “Well, I mean, I could give you suggestions if you want.” Goddamn it.

Sam shrugs.

“All right. Well, I'm just spit-balling here, but if I were you, uh...Ruby, killing Lilith, letting Lucifer out, losing your soul, not looking for me when I went to purgatory—”

“Thanks.”

“—For starters. Or, hey, how about what you did to Penny Markle in the sixth grade? Why don’t you lead with that?”

“That was you.”

Oh. Right.

 

* * *

 

“OK, um…If anybody’s listening, here goes.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I, um, I didn’t look for Dean when he went to purgatory. I was trying to, uh—I didn’t know what to do, and I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve done _something._ Kevin, too. I didn’t even think about…

“I’ve let Dean down so much. I haven’t—I’m never there for him. He’s always, _always_ there for me, and I just…I can’t do the same for him. I wish I could, but I just can’t. I try so fucking hard to be exactly how he wants me to be, and I just never can. When I meet his expectations, the expectations change. I just—I just want him to be proud of me. That’s my biggest sin. Wanting Dean to be proud of me. I want him to trust me and believe in me and think the best of me, and I want to always have his back and help him through all of the shit he goes through because God knows he goes through so fucking much.

“But I haven’t done that. I haven’t done that, and I don’t know if I even know how. There’s so much…pain there. There’s so much he’s carrying, so much shit he doesn’t have to carry, and I wish I could carry it all for him, but I’ve got too much shit myself. I wish there was a way to—to get rid of it all. Throw it all away.

“Forgive me, Father. I’ve failed Dean over and over and over again. I don’t want to anymore.”

 

* * *

 

Sam hasn’t been inside but two minutes before Cas appears and asks Dean for help with some bogus trials to lock heaven up, too. Jesus, when does the party stop.

“I can’t fail, Dean. Not on this one. I need your help.”

Well, when he puts it like that. “Buddy, you’re not doing this because you’re trying to make things up to me, are you?”

“No. Mostly no. Does it matter?”

“Look, Cas, you're asking me to leave Sam, and we've got Crowley in there tied and trussed. Now, if anybody needs a chaperone while doing the heavy lifting, it's Sam.”

“You should go,” Sam cuts in from behind them.

“Oh, what, and leave you here with the king of hell?”

“I got this. And if you guys can lock the angels up, too, that’s a good day.”

He can’t argue with that. Especially because if he argues, well, then it’s obvious that he doesn’t really want to lock the angels up in heaven. Because that means Cas will leave, too.

Five minutes later they're sitting in a bar waiting on Cupid to make a move.

“Talk to me. Are you sure about this? I mean, it's one thing me and Sammy slamming the gates to the pit, but you—you're—you're boarding up heaven, and you're locking the door behind you. You did a lot of damage up there, man. You think they’re just going to let that slide?”

“Do you mean do I think they’ll kill me? Yeah, they might.”

“So this is it? E.T. goes home.”

“E.T.?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

They’re silent for several seconds as they drink their beer. So far the guy who’s supposed to be hit with Cupid’s arrow at any moment hasn’t shown any signs of anything.

“Dean, would you prefer it if I stayed?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t want me to be…locked in heaven? You would rather I…”

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

Cas just looks at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“Yeah, Cas. I wish you’d stay with me. Happy?”

They’re so busy kissing they almost miss the dude falling in love with the burly bartender. How much gayer could this bar get.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Dean is on the phone with Kevin trying to figure out what the next step is when Naomi shows up and tells Cas that Metatron is lying. He’s trying to cast all of the angels out, not lock them in.

Cas freaks out, insists that she’s lying, Kevin is calling Dean’s name on the phone, Dean demands that Cas take him back to Sam—

And suddenly Dean is standing outside the church and Cas is gone.

“Sammy, stop!” Dean steels himself and reaches out to his brother. He has to stay calm to get Sam to stop shaking and glowing. “Easy there. OK. Just take it easy. We got a slight change of plan.”

“What? What’s going on? Where’s Cas?”

“Metatron lied. You finish this trial, you’re dead, Sam.”

“So?”

No. No, no, no. Not Sam. Sam isn’t—Sam isn’t suicidal. Sam isn’t suicidal…? _I see light at the end of this tunnel, I see light at the end of this tunnel, I see light at the end of this tunnel._

“Sammy…”

“Look at him.” He points at Crowley. “Look at him! Look at how close we are! Other people will die if I don’t finish this!”

_So?_ “Think about it. Think about what we know, huh? Pulling souls from hell, curing demons, hell, ganking a hellhound! We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here. But I can't do it without you.”

“You can barely do it with me. I mean, you think I screw up everything I try. You think I need a chaperone, remember?”

“Come on, man, that’s not what I meant.”

“No, it's exactly what you meant. You want to know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was? It was how many times I let you down. I can't do that again. What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again? I mean, who are you going to turn to next time instead of me? Another angel, another—another vampire? Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother just—”

“Hold on, hold on! You seriously think that? Because none of it—none of it—is true. Listen, man, I know we've had our disagreements, OK? Hell, I know I've said some shit that set you back on your heels. I know I’m too hard on you, and I know I’ve been a dick to you and treated you like you need my help when you don’t. But, Sammy...come on. I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed Mom walk because of you. Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I'm begging you.”

It feels like an eternity has passed before Sam responds.

“How do I stop?”

After all that, and he asks for help. “Just let it go,” Dean says as he takes Sam’s hands in his own. He doesn’t know how to make this stop, but he’ll try his damnedest.

“I can’t. It’s in me, Dean. You don’t know what this feels like.”

“Hey, listen. We will figure it out, OK? Just like we always do. Come on.” He yanks him down for a hug, and Sam melts beneath him. Dean has to take a step back to keep his balance. “Come on. Let it go, OK? Let it go, brother.”

Sam tenses and pulls away. “Hey, Dean,” he says excitedly as he stares down at his arms. The glow is starting to dissipate.

“See?”

Sam smiles and starts to keel over. Dean catches him and just barely gets him outside to the car.

“Sam? I got you, little brother, you’re going to be just fine.”

Sam doesn’t make it into the car before he collapses on the ground in a fit of coughs.

“Sam. Sammy! Cas?”

There are comets in the sky. Tons of comets hurtling toward earth.

“No, Cas. Castiel!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referenced verses:
> 
> [Genesis 17:15-17](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+17%3A15-17&version=NIV)  
> [Genesis 4:6-12](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+4%3A6-12&version=NIV)  
> [Genesis 19:30-38](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+19%3A30-38&version=NIV)  
> [2 Samuel 24:16](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2+samuel+24%3A16&version=NIV)  
> [2 Kings 19:35](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2+kings+19%3A35&version=NIV)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episodes 1-3 of season 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk, FUCK Buckleming for being terrible and making my job harder. I corrected a lot of the grievances in 9x3 by, you know, writing April the way the original mythology defined reapers instead of making them angels who take vessels (literally what???). But warning for Cas having sex when he doesn't really want to; it'll be explained better later on.

“The MRI shows massive internal burns affecting many of the major organs. Oxygen to the brain has been severely deprived. The coma is the result of the body doing everything in its limited power to protect itself from further harm.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He didn’t complete the trials.

The gates of hell are still open.

Sam is going to die in vain. He is going to die because Dean was selfish.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“If your brother continues on this trajectory, the machines will keep him alive, but—”

“He’ll be dead.”

“Technically, yes. I’m afraid so.”

From out of nowhere comes the memory of himself lying in a hospital bed, being kept alive by machines, telling Sammy to take care of his car after he passes.

_Look, Sammy, what can I say, man, it's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story._

_Don't talk like that, all right? We still have options._

_What options? Yeah, burial or cremation. And I know it's not easy. But I'm going to die. And you can't stop it._

_Watch me._

God, what Dean would give to go back there. When death was simple, and Sam’s fierce determination was the only thing Dean needed to stay alive.

He hasn’t thought about Layla in years, but now he finds himself thinking about her. She was so—so sure of herself. So steadfast in her faith, like nothing in the world could shake it.

_Must be rough. To believe in something so much and have it disappoint you._

_You want to hear something weird? I'm OK. Really. I guess if you're going to have faith...you can't just have it when the miracles happen. You have to have it when they don't._

_So what now?_

_God works in mysterious ways._

When Cas tried to tell him the same thing years later, Dean wouldn’t hear it. God didn’t do a damn thing for Layla. Dean read her obituary in the newspaper less than a month after they left that town.

_I’m not much of the praying type, but I’m going to pray for you._

Every day. Every day until her name showed up in gray and black. Every damn day.

“So, there's—there's no recovery? I mean, there's no bounce-back. There's no nothing.”

“I'm afraid that's in God's hands now.”

“You're a doctor. You're a medical professional. You're trying to tell me that my brother's life is in _God's_ hands? What, is that supposed to be a, a comfort?”

“Mr. Dougherty—”

“No, God has nothing to do with this equation at all.”

“I didn't mean—”

“That's not good enough.”

Dean storms out of the hospital room. _God’s_ hands. When the hell has God ever done anything for them?

He passes the hospital sanctuary almost as soon as he gets out of the room. How fucking poetic.

There are other people here, sitting silently and holding their hands together in their laps. One lady is crying, another is staring blankly out the window. Dean wonders if any of these people have faith in anything real.

“Cas, are you there? Sammy's hurt. He's hurt, uh, he's hurt pretty bad. And, um—I know you think that I'm pissed at you, OK? But I don't care that the angels fell. So whatever you did or didn't do, it doesn't matter, OK? We'll work it out. Please, man, I need you here.” He doesn’t know why he says it out loud. He never prays to Cas out loud. But-but he needs him.

_Must be rough. To believe in something so much and have it disappoint you._

He waits two minutes. He looks around the chapel and feels like his heart might burst when a tan trench coat doesn’t show up.

“Fuck it. OK, listen up. This one goes out to any angel with their ears on. This is Dean Winchester, and I need your help. Linwood Memorial Hospital in Randolph, New York. The first one who helps me gets my help in return, and you know that ain’t nothing.”

Dean stands and heads out into the hallway with a strange sort of determination. Maybe the same determination Sammy had all those years ago when he wouldn’t let Dean die.

An hour passes. Then two. No angels show up.

Dean suddenly remembers that the king of hell is stashed in the trunk of his car, and he races out to the parking deck.

“Crowley, listen up, you son of a bitch. One for yes, two for no. You alive?”

He knocks once.

A man puts a knife to Dean’s throat.

“You prayed?”

“Yeah, for help.”

“You’ll be helping me.” The guy shoves Dean’s face down against the trunk of the Impala. “If you lie to me, Dean Winchester, I will rip your throat out. Where is Castiel?”

“Oh, can’t you tell? He’s right down here sucking my dick.”

The angel slams Dean’s face against the metal. Dean laughs. He’s had too many good memories of being slammed against this car to really be affected by this. Besides, angels. They showed up.

“Tell me where he is!”

“Who’s asking?”

“Try every angel who was ejected from their home.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I have no clue.”

The guy keeps slamming Dean’s face into his car and honestly Dean’s more worried about the damage to his car than anything. If this guy wants to kill him, well? Who cares at this point?

“Easy there, brother. This young man has prayed for our assistance. Are we creatures of wrath or compassion? I would argue the latter.”

Young man? Dean hasn’t been called “young man” in, like, a decade. He can’t wait to turn around and see this smooth-talking angel that just saved his life.

There’s a fight, Dean gets hold of an angel blade, the kinky angel gets stabbed.

Dean stares at the second guy and wonders how the hell these angels find such attractive vessels. Not that now’s necessarily the time to be thinking about that.

“Who are you?” Dean asks.

“Never mind me. You’re Dean Winchester. I heard your prayer, and I am here to help.” He ends his speech by passing out.

“OK,” Dean says to no one.

When the guy wakes up, he says his name’s Ezekiel and that there are probably more angels on their way. Dean paces outside of the ring of holy fire, trying to decide if Ezekiel should be trusted.

“Believe it or not, some of us still do believe in our mission. And that means we believe in Castiel…and you.”

“Listen, whatever you might’ve heard about me and Cas—”

“About how you’re two of the most dangerous creatures currently in existence? That even with your brother on his deathbed, you and Castiel still have the potential to lock up heaven and hell together? The rumors are widespread, Dean. There is a betting pool on when exactly you and he will confess your love to one another.”

Dean trips over his own feet. “I don’t—”

“Would you like my help or not?”

They go back inside, and while Ezekiel is trying to decide how to help Sam, Dean’s phone rings.

“Who is this?”

“Dean.”

“Cas, what the hell’s going on?”

“Metatron tricked me. It wasn’t angel trials. It was a spell. I wanted you to know that.”

“OK. That’s great, but, um, we’ve got ourselves a problem here. Sam, um—they say he’s dying.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I mean, first he was OK, and then he wasn’t. And I—you hear my prayers? I’ve been praying to you all night.”

There’s a pause before Cas says, “Dean—Metatron, he…he took my grace.”

_“What?”_

“Don’t worry about me. What are you doing for Sam?”

“Everything I can. There’s an angel here—his name’s Ezekiel.”

“Ezekiel. Yes, he’s a good soldier. He can help until I get there.”

“Wait! Cas, no. Listen to me. All the angels…they’re all after you, man. They’re looking for you, and-and they’re pissed.”

Cas doesn’t listen. "Not all of them, Dean. Some are just looking for guidance. What if-what if my purpose is to help them?"

“No, Cas, I know you want to help, OK? I do, but helping angels is what got you in trouble in the first place. Now, I'm begging you—for once, look out for yourself. Until we figure out what the hell is going on, trust nobody.”

“And do what? Just abandon them all?”

“Damn it, Cas. You hearing yourself? There's a war on, and it's on you. There's thousands of them out th—you said you lost your grace, right? That means you're human. That means you bleed and you eat and you sleep and all the things you never had to worry about before. Please, Cas, _listen to me._ I-I can’t protect you, and you got to stay safe, all right? If you won’t do it for yourself, will you at least do it for me?”

The line is silent for several seconds. Then, Cas takes a deep breath and concedes, “Fine. I hear you. Goodbye, Dean.”

“Wait, Cas—you get your ass to the bunker, all right? I’ll see you soon.”

Half a dozen angels show up at the hospital presumably to torture Dean until he tells them where Castiel is. Ezekiel says they have to move. Dean gets inside Sam’s head and finds him making a deal with _Death._ Icing on the cake, and all that.

It’s a rash, all-in, last resort decision when Dean gets in Sam’s noggin and tells him he has to fight.

“Sam, listen to me. I made you a promise in that church. You and me, come whatever. Well, hell, if this ain't whatever. But you got to let me in, man. You got to let me help. There ain't no me if there ain't no you.”

Sam agrees. Of course, he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to, but he agrees to stay alive at least.

Sam is alive. He’s going to have an angel all up in his business for a while, but he’s alive. As long as he doesn’t find out, Dean can do this. He can make this mistake. Anything to keep Sammy alive.

 

It’s not even a week later before Sam and Dean are working again.

Kevin is even more neurotic than usual, shooting arrows at people when they walk into the bunker.

Crowley is locked up in the dungeon making BDSM jokes.

Abaddon is apparently alive and kicking, and it appears she’s trying to create some demon army.

Sam has asked if Cas is OK and _when is he getting here, Dean, are you sure he’s coming_ every five seconds since he woke up from the hospital.

Oh, and on Wednesday Krissy fucking Chambers shows up at their front door and asks if they’ve got an extra room because her friends are assholes and she was getting really sick of hitchhiking by herself.

“It’s going to be a busy year,” Dean comments mostly to himself because everyone is too damn busy to even notice what anybody else is doing.

While they’re on the trail to finding Abaddon, Kevin calls and gives them exact coordinates. He says Abaddon’s got a couple of hunters that she’s going to kill if they don’t go save them immediately.

But when they get to the diner where Irv and Tracy are tied up, it’s completely abandoned.

After they’ve checked to make sure Irv and Tracy aren’t demons, Sam yanks on the sleeve of Dean’s coat and pulls him outside.

“Dude, _what?”_

“This-this reminds me of-of—”

Oh, fuck. Now is really not the time for Sam to be panicking over the first time he died. “Shh, Sam, it’s all right, OK? You’re fine. Look, we’re going to make it through this together. I’m here, right? I got you.” Dean instinctively presses into the palm of Sam’s hand like he used to do when he was hallucinating Satan and needed to be grounded in reality.

Sam visibly relaxes and nods furiously. His eyes still look terrified. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We got—”

Suddenly there’s a buzzing sound, and they both turn to the deserted road ahead of them.

The deserted road that is now being filled with giant locusts…and scorpions.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” Dean chants as he and Sam cling to each other and race back inside the diner. “Board it up! Board it the fuck up!” he yells as they scramble to all of the doors and windows to try to do literally _anything_ to keep the plague out.

Right as Dean’s about to shove a chair at the front entrance, the door explodes open and Abaddon walks in, locusts flying around her and a scorpion balancing on her index finger.

“What a pleasant surprise,” she says smoothly, and somehow her voice carries over the din of the bugs.

“What the hell is this?” Dean shouts.

“You should read your Bible, Dean. You could learn a thing or two. Now, let’s get everybody out of here, shall we?”

Abaddon waves her hand and suddenly the locusts swarm at Sam, Tracy and Irv. She keeps her eyes locked on Dean as she walks toward him, and it’s almost like there’s an invisible barrier around them keeping the bugs out. Dean is vaguely aware of his three companions rushing out into the street to go God knows where.

“I missed you. Did you miss me?” she asks as she pulls at Dean’s hair and brings him to his knees. “So appreciate you boys coming when I call. I think that's what I like most about you Winchesters. You're so obedient. And suicidally stupid. I like that, too."

“Are we going to fight or make out? 'Cause I'm getting some real mixed signals here.” He hopes Abaddon doesn't notice the tightening of his pants. This is supposed to be a game, and he'll lose as soon as she knows he's actually into this. Into her.

Abaddon smiles, and a locust flies out between her back teeth. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“This is a typical Friday night for me, sweetheart…minus the locusts.”

She drops the act then and scowls. “I want Crowley. Or what’s left of him.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I let you die. Quick and clean.”

“And if I say get lost?”

Abaddon runs a knife along Dean’s collarbone until she reaches his tattoo. She pulls his hair just a little too hard as she answers, “Well, you know, I’ve loved this body since the moment I first saw—”

“Thanks, most people would say the same.”

She pulls harder. Dean laughs in pain. “You're the perfect vessel, Dean. You give a girl all sorts of nasty ideas. So go ahead and play hard to get, and I'll peel off this ‘no demons allowed’ tattoo and blow smoke up your ass.”

“Probably shouldn’t go up my ass—trust me, you don’t want to know what’s been in there.”

Abaddon pulls his hair so hard he screams, and then her hand goes to his neck and Dean thinks he’s fucked but out of nowhere there’s a blast of light outside and the buzzing intensifies before disappearing entirely.

“An angel? You brought a fucking angel with you?” Abaddon panics.

“What? You thought we’d roll up to this mouse trap without some back-up?”

She grits her teeth together, yanks Dean’s hair one last time, and disappears with the last of her locusts and scorpions.

Dean sprints out of the diner and finds Sam—Ezekiel in the street with a knife in his hand, three demons dead at his feet.

“The fuck did you do?”

“They were going to kill him. They already killed Irv, but Tracy managed to escape. I thought that was what you wanted, Dean. For me to protect your brother.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“You’re still troubled.”

“Yeah, it's just that, uh, this is on me. I was the one who talked Sam out of boarding up hell. OK? So every demon deal, every kill that they make…well, you're looking at the person who let it happen.” Why Dean is talking to Ezekiel of all people about this, he’ll never know.

“You were protecting your brother. I am in Sam's head. Everything he knows, I know. And I know that what you did, you did out of love.”

Nope, not the time or place. “Yeah, uh, look, Zeke—I'm going to call you Zeke—I'm not really with the whole, uh, love, and...love.” Even just saying the word tastes bitter on his tongue.

“But it is why I said yes.”

Great, the one angel on their side is a great big fucking sap, maybe even worse than Castiel. “Yeah, and if that goes sideways, that's on me, too.”

“That's not going to happen.”

“This is nuts. I mean, you're Sam, but you're not Sam, and normally he's the one I'm talking to about all this stuff. I'm trusting you, Zeke. I just got to hope that you're one of the good guys.”

“I am. But I suppose that is what a bad guy would say. Dean Winchester, you are doing the right thing.”

“No, I’m really not. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

When Sam wakes up, it’s not as difficult as Dean expected to lie to him. He doesn’t even mention that Abaddon showed up, and for some reason Sam believes him when he says the bugs disappeared when the demons died. Maybe because he’s still drained—he ends up sleeping in the car the entire ride back to the bunker, which is a blessing for Dean because he knows there are going to be very few moments of silence for the foreseeable future.

Which is proven correct when the second he drops his duffel bag in the bunker Kevin storms past him looking like he’s moving out.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, where do you think you’re going? Hey, hey, whoa, talk to me.”

“You can’t keep me locked in here. I’m leaving.”

“OK, first off, you’re not ‘locked’ in here, Rapunzel. Secondly, we _told_ you not to talk to Crowley. He messes with your head.”

“He said my mom's alive. Crowley said if I let him go, he'd give her back to me.”

“Listen, buddy, Crowley’s lying. He’s—”

“But what if he’s not!”

“Well...if she is alive, then she's dead. In every way that matters, she's dead, Kevin, I'm sorry. I know you're dying to bolt, man. I get it. But out that door—it's demons, and it's angels, and they would all love to get their hands on a prophet. So even with Crowley here, this is still the safest place for you. It just is. And we need you, man.”

“Because I’m useful.”

“Because you're family. After all the shit we've been through, after all the good that you've done...man, if you don't think that we would die for you, I don't know what to tell you. Because you, me, Sam and Cas, we are all we've got. But hey, if none of that matters to you, then I won't stop you.”

Kevin hangs his head and cries silently, so Dean does the only thing he knows how to do and wraps the kid up in his arms and lets him sob into his shirt.

“As long as you’re with me, kid, I’m going to do my best to keep you safe, all right? We’ll-we’ll look for your mom. Promise.”

When Kevin finally pulls away and grabs his stuff to head back to his room, Krissy rounds the corner with a smirk on her face and asks, “Do I get to be a part of the family, too?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Did you get settled in? You sure you want to stay here with us?”

“Secret lair full of angsty boys, one of which is a demon? Yeah, I’m good staying here, old man. As long as you let me on some hunts with you guys.”

“Deal.”

“And let me fix up one of those old bikes sitting in the garage.”

Dean’s first instinct is to say no, but then again…“As long as you let me take her for a spin if you actually get one working.”

“Deal.” Krissy runs out of the room and disappears around the corner.

Dean takes a deep breath. Since when does he have two kids and a brother to take care of.

“Drink?” Dean asks as he enters the library carrying two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

Sam nods. “Kevin all right?”

“Yeah, he’s passed out in his room. He’ll bounce back.”

“Good thing you and Cas sleep in the same bed. We’re running out of rooms.”

Dean laughs and takes a drink. “No kidding.” When he sets his glass down, he notices that Sam’s face has fallen. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, it’s just…when we got separated, Tracy said—she didn’t even want to be near me, Dean. Said she couldn’t stand to be around the guy who jump started the apocalypse. Her-her mom died because of me.”

“Sam, listen to me. You have helped a hell of a lot more people than you have hurt, OK? Neither of us are anywhere near guiltless when it comes to the apocalypse, but that was then, right? You’re-you’re a good man, little brother. Best I know. So here’s to now.”

Dean holds up his glass in anticipation until Sam clinks his against it.

“So, you ready for it?” Sam asks once the tension’s relaxed a little.

“Hmm?”

“The fallen angels? Abaddon? Crowley in our basement, Cas losing his halo. The two foster kids we got living under our roof?”

“Shit, we’re living in a fucking sitcom. What about you, how’s the, uh, engine running?”

“Honestly, um, I feel better than I have in a long time. I mean, I realize it's crazy out there, and we have trouble coming for us, but I look around, and I see friends and family. I am happy with my life, for the first time in...forever. I-I am, I really am. It's just, things are—things are good.”

Dean’s heart sinks. His brother deserves that, deserves to be happy and content with his life. Of course he deserves it. But there’s still the small matter of an angel crawling around in his skin without his knowledge, and that makes Dean want to puke. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s done something selfish to keep his brother alive, but it’s definitely the worst he’s ever felt about it. 

 

* * *

 

Being human is miserable.

His clothes don’t fit. He’s cold one second and warm the next. He is sweaty and too dry and sticky all at once.

He keeps forgetting to eat, and then when he remembers he’s not anywhere near food. So his stomach makes weird churning noises and then he eats too fast and understands why Dean is always burping after meals.

His body feels like it’s breaking at the seams, but it also feels incredibly small and empty without the vastness of his grace filling his vessel. He is fragile, breakable, a feather blowing in the wind. Every single one of his joints aches.

It’s been a week since Dean told him to get to the bunker, a week since an angel he thought was a friend turned against him. He has no idea how to get to Dean, so instead he goes from church to homeless shelter to street asking in every town how close he is to Lebanon. He is not close to Lebanon.

Every angel that fell from heaven is after him. He kills one of them and is grateful that his fighting skills have remained mostly intact despite the fact that he doesn’t have his strength.

The day he gets a warding sigil tattooed on his stomach is the day he effectively runs out of money. He hasn’t eaten in two days. He hasn’t slept in a real bed since the shelter two towns back. It begins to rain.

Cas’ teeth are chattering so hard that he can feel the enamel begin to break down. He can’t feel his fingers or toes, and he is devastatingly hungry. His head is pounding. The last time he had anything to drink was 12 hours ago.

April Kelly gives him a sandwich and invites him into her home. There is something…he senses something off about her, but he is desperate and probably dying, so he really doesn’t have much of a choice.

When she kisses him, he—his body responds. It is the first time his body has reacted in a sexual way since he watched pornography so many years ago.

He doesn’t know what to do. His heart is beating out of his chest, and he feels like he might panic, but every nerve ending in his body is pointing toward “have sex now” and it is very difficult to ignore.

That, combined with the fact that he feels like he owes this woman some sort of payment for allowing him to stay with her, are the reasons why Castiel sleeps with her.

It is not anything like being with Dean. Or with Meg. Yes, his body reacts appropriately, but there is nothing more. It is all physical. He is reminded of the Christian belief that sex is pointedly _not_ just physical, that it is an intimate act between people that can have a lasting effect on a person or a relationship. This is the first time in his long existence that he is doubting that belief.

Although it is his first night on a real bed in a long time, he does not sleep well. He dreams about Dean and about heaven and about flying. But he keeps falling and jolting himself awake. Also, he randomly has an erection each time he wakes up. He ignores it.

He is so distracted by all of the new human stimuli and circumstances being thrown at him that he almost doesn’t notice in the morning when his angel blade is missing, and he doesn’t find it suspicious until April has it at his throat.

When she tells him she’s a reaper, everything makes more sense. The weird fuzzy feeling he gets when he’s around her or touches her is not, in fact, a human thing, but is caused by her exertion of maintaining a corporeal form. He briefly wonders why she chose her particular form to seduce him when he has never even shown interest in a human woman before.

She begins to torture him, which is confusing. He has never met an unkind or violent reaper. They are bringers of peace, of order—yes, they kill, but death is inevitable and someone must handle it. He must really have broken heaven if even the reapers are asking him what he did.

Cas doesn’t even have time to register if the two men who just burst through the door really are Sam and Dean before he feels a blade bury in his chest. Everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

Since Cas became human, Dean has had three different nightmares about him.

In the first, Dean opened the front door of the bunker to find Cas frozen and dead on the pavement.

In the second, Cas kept calling and calling and trying to get to Dean and saying he needed help, but Dean could never get to him and could never reach him and he woke up in a cold sweat.

In the third, Cas made it home to the bunker. He and Dean made love on his memory foam mattress. An angel sneaked in during the night and killed Cas in his sleep.

When Dean sees the angel blade sink into Cas’ chest and no light pour from Cas’ eyes, his vision goes dim. Nothing seems real anymore. He doesn’t know if he’s dreaming. Surely he is—the woman who stabbed Cas dissipates into smoke after tossing Sam against the wall like a ragdoll.

“Cas! Cas?” Dean grabs his face in his hands and wishes just _this one time_ that God would listen to his fucking prayers.

Holding a graceless, lifeless Cas between his fingers is one of the worst experiences of Dean’s life.

He’s numb when Ezekiel heals Cas’ wounds. He’s numb when Cas opens his eyes and breathes his name. He’s numb when he seals their mouths together and pushes every ounce of protection and want and need into the kiss as he can possibly muster. He’s numb all over.

“I could’ve sworn I was dead.”

“Well, you weren’t, Cas. Reaper brought you back before you were totally gone.” Dean stares at Cas through the rear view mirror until he hits the rumble strip and swerves back between the lines.

“Hey, Cas, how come we could all see the reaper?” Sam asks. “Aren’t they supposed to be, like, only visible to the person they’re reaping or something?”

“She was ‘going off book.’ I don’t know how she made her form look and feel corporeal.”

Sam turns to the backseat to look at Cas. “You think she took a vessel?”

“Not with how she vanished,” Dean cuts in.

“Dean’s right. Reapers don’t take vessels. Oh.”

“What?” Sam and Dean ask in unison.

“I was-I was wondering why she took a form not necessarily…appealing to me. She must’ve killed the woman who lived in that house and stole her appearance so as not to rouse the neighbors.”

“OK. Buddy, you sure you’re all right?”

“I am fine. There is—a lot more to being human than I imagined. You look for purpose, and you must not be defeated by anger or despair. Or hedonism for that matter.”

“Where does hedonism come into it?”

“Well, my time with April was very…educational.”

There’s a lengthy pause before it hits Dean and he blurts out without thinking, “You had sex with April?”

The look Cas gives him in the mirror confirms it.

“Like-like penis in vagina sex? The whole deal?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“You got it up for a goddamn reaper when you haven’t been able to get it up for me in four years?”

“It’s cool, I’m not here.”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“Dean, I think this is something we should discuss when we—”

“It’s ‘cause you’re human, isn’t it? Your dick works now?”

“Dean—”

“Please, for the love of _god_ continue this conversation when you’re alone.”

They’re quiet for several awkward minutes, and then Dean says, “You’ll fuck me as soon as we get home, right?”

_“Dean, I swear to—”_

“Yes.”

Dean hits the gas harder.

They have to stop twice for Cas to go to the bathroom. He gets a granola bar from the second gas station and only eats half of it before folding it up carefully and putting it in his pocket.

It feels like an eternity before they get back to the bunker, the car too sleepy and quiet to be normal. When Cas steps out of the backseat and stumbles before catching his balance, Dean feels a lurch in his chest and reaches out to guide his angel inside with a hand to the small of his back. He turns to Sam and gives him a look to silently tell him to keep his distance for a while.

“You OK, Cas?” he asks as they weave through the halls to his room.

“I don’t know.”

“Honey, you got to give me more than that. Tell me how to help you.”

“I don’t know! I’m hungry and my stomach hurts. I’m tired but I don’t feel like sleeping. My bones ache, but they feel alive and…tingly. The only thing I’m sure of is that I want to have sex with you, and my body does, too.”

Dean chokes on air. “All right, buddy, the sex can wait, OK? Let me take care of you first.”

Cas just furrows his brow and nods.

When they get to Dean’s room, Cas sits quietly on the bed while Dean grabs some clothes and things for him.

“C’mon, buddy,” Dean says as he heads back out of the room. He can hear the soft pad of Cas’ feet following close behind him.

Cas audibly gasps when Dean opens the door to reveal the industrial bathroom with the giant showers. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask any questions as Dean leads him through a door at the back that opens up to a large metal tub with a stool sitting next to it. He immediately turns the knobs on the bath and checks the temperature of the water.

“I think this place was made to clean up wounds after a hunt or something. Not that the Men of Letters were really that great of hunters or anything. C’mon.” Dean pulls at Cas’ jacket. “How long you been wearing these rags anyway?”

Cas just shrugs and looks up at Dean with puppy dog eyes.

Dean leans down and kisses him softly as he undoes the button on his pants. Once Cas is standing naked in front of him, Dean gestures his head to the bath. The angel climbs in like he’s scared the water’s going to bite.

“Just relax. I got you.”

It’s intoxicating taking care of Cas like this. Sure, he’s patched him up in the past, but something about Cas being human makes Dean feel so much more _needed._ He’s never felt like that with the angel, and he’s already falling in love with the feeling.

He starts by scooting the stool around behind the bath and easing the tension in Cas’ shoulders. It’s annoying when Cas mentions that April did the same thing for him and told him he had knots, but Dean tries not to get jealous. Not like she’s a threat unless she tries to murder Cas again. They slip into a comfortable silence as Cas leans forward so Dean can scrub his back, leans back again so Dean can scrub his front, lifts his arms and allows Dean to hold them up, basically becomes totally boneless under Dean’s touch.

“Dude, if you want me to wash your legs and your junk, you’re going to have to stand,” Dean announces as he’s scrubbing the bottoms of Cas’ feet.

With his head tilted back and his eyes closed, Cas answers very seriously, “Why don’t you just come in here and do it?”

“Don’t fucking tempt—”

The main bathroom door opens and Dean hears Krissy humming to herself as she switches the shower on. Cas opens his eyes and looks at Dean like he’s been betrayed somehow.

“Uh, we might have a few people living in the bunker with us. I mean, it’s no big deal. She’ll be out of here before we’re done anyway.”

Cas shrugs, and the water sloshes. “If you say so.”

Krissy stays long enough for Dean and Cas to have the time to lazily make out, Dean awkwardly leaning over the edge of the tub and Cas not even bothering to try to lean forward.

When they pull apart after several minutes, the first thing Cas says is, “I’ve always wondered what the phrase ‘pruney fingers’ meant.”

“What?”

Cas lifts his hands out of the water and shows off his fingertips. “My fingers. They’re pruney. That’s how humans know they are done bathing.”

Dean laughs and splashes water in Cas’ face. “Yeah, Cas, OK. Let’s get you out of here then, huh?”

He holds out a towel for Cas, and he drops into his arms like a child, so Dean laughs and kisses his wet hair before running a dry washcloth through it.

“Krissy?” Dean asks through the door.

Something clatters to the floor, and Krissy shouts back, “Who’s there?”

“Uh, it’s me—Dean. I’m back here in the tub room with-with Cas. Can we come through?”

There’s a pause, some shuffling, and then Krissy shouts, “Just, uh, give me a minute. What the fuck are you doing back there with what’s-his-name?”

“What do you _think_ we’re doing?”

“OK, um, I’m leaving now. Have fun doing…whatever you’re doing.”

It doesn’t take long to get back to Dean’s room, and it takes an even shorter amount of time to crawl into bed and curl up next to each other for the night. With his eyes already closed, Cas pulls Dean to him so they’re chest-to-chest—or rather, Dean’s face is smashed into Cas’ chest, their arms and legs tangled tightly around each other.

“This is the most comfortable bed I have ever felt in my entire existence,” Cas deadpans.

“Memory foam.”

“I still don’t know what that means.”

“Means it’s really fucking comfortable. Go to sleep, Cas.”

“Dean.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

Cas tightens his grip around Dean’s back and answers, “Taking care of me.”

“Go to sleep, buddy.”

Five minutes later, Cas’ stomach rumbles so much Dean feels it vibrate through his own body.

“Dude, I forgot to feed you. Oh my god, why didn’t you say anything?” Dean panics as he scoots out of Cas’ hold.

“No, Dean, it’s OK! I’m-I’m—”

“You had half a granola bar. This isn’t—you’re not homeless anymore, Castiel. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty well fed. I can spoil you, too. C’mon.”

Cas hesitates but finally takes Dean’s offered hand and lets him lead him to the kitchen. Dean pulls out a stool at the counter for Cas to sit, and then he leans across and asks what he wants.

Cas just shrugs.

So Dean makes eggs and pancakes and bacon. Cas drinks two cups of milk and a glass of orange juice while the food cooks. Sam walks in rubbing sleep out of his eyes just as Dean is making a plate for Cas.

“Is it morning already? What time is it?” he asks groggily.

“I’m a dumbass and forgot to feed Cas before bed. Sit. I’ll make you a plate.”

“You’re not a dumb—”

“Shh, Cas. Taking care of you, remember?”

It’s nice, the three of them eating breakfast at 1 in the morning, trying to keep their voices down so as not to wake Kevin or Krissy. Cas smiles and laughs for the first time all day, and Dean feels a tightness in his chest that he hasn’t felt in years. He looks between his brother and the angel as they talk in hushed tones and realizes that this is it.

This is all he’s ever wanted.

And somehow, by some miracle, he’s got it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[purposely ends the chapter before all the sad stuff]]


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of episode 3 through episode 6 of season 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The question to ask before this chapter is am I capable of writing filler that is better than, but just as ridiculous as, Dog Dean Afternoon. Yes, that's really supposed to be Idris Elba. And yes, I had to change some things in 9x4 to make this work. Shhh it'll all make sense.

_“Dean…I’m—Dean.”_

Dean jolts awake and takes a second to orient himself before recognizing what’s happening. There are impossibly strong fingers digging into his stomach and an erect cock sliding up and down the cleft of his ass in desperation. Cas is sweaty and breathing erratically, and as far as Dean can tell he’s still asleep.

So Dean grabs his hand and laces his fingers behind Cas’ to try to ground him. “Cas! Buddy, wake up.”

Cas just pushes harder, dry humping Dean as much as his dream sequence will allow. Dean feels himself getting hard and curses. Cas needs to _wake the fuck up._

“Cas. _Castiel._ I swear to god, if you don’t wake—”

Cas gasps and jumps. Suddenly his hand relaxes, and his body stops moving. “Dean? Did I…?”

Dean manages to flip over and cup the angel’s face in his hand. “You were asleep, honey. And freakishly turned on. Can I help you out?” Dean reaches his hand down and hovers at the waistband of Cas’ boxers.

“I want to fuck you,” Cas responds so low and dirty that Dean can’t help but surge forward and kiss the hell out of him.

Dean wants to suck Cas off, wants to give him everything Cas has given _him_ in the past few years, but Dean surrenders any control he might’ve had as soon as Cas pushes him flat on his back and slots his body on top of him. They’re both still in boxers and t-shirts as Cas rolls his hips and slides their erections together. Dean groans and pulls at Cas’ hair, trying to ground himself as Cas claws at his shirt in order to suck hickeys into his collarbone.

 _“Cas—_ Cas, oh god—goddamn it— _Cas—”_

“Need you. Dean, need you, need you.”

 _God,_ those words are like a fucking drug to Dean, and to hear them coming out of his angel’s mouth…

Dean scrambles to get some leverage. Cas has him pinned pretty completely, and their bodies are so tightly wound together that he’s not even sure he can get a hand between them. So instead, he does the only thing he really can do and thrusts up as he reaches behind Cas and pushes his ass down. Cas moans and throws back his head, so Dean takes the opportunity to reach up and bite his neck. Before he really even thinks about what he’s doing, Dean slides his hand under the waistband of Cas’ boxers and gropes between his cheeks. It isn’t until he barely grazes over his rim that he remembers the importance of lube.

“What-what is that? Do that-do that again,” Cas pleads as Dean throws his arm over the side of the bed and reaches blindly for the nightstand.

“Dude, I can’t—we need lube! Get the fucking lube out of the nightstand.”

Cas catches on quicker than Dean expected, and they both fumble and fight over the lube until it pops open and squirts right onto Dean’s shirt. They laugh and scramble around until finally Dean gets some on his fingers and is able to resume where they left off.

Cas continues rocking and thrusting against Dean as Dean pushes his first finger in, and before he knows it the angel is pushing back and clenching like he’s already ready for more.

“Jesus, Cas—you sure Jimmy Novak didn’t like to—”

“Shut up and add a second finger.”

Dean does as he’s told, and when he hits Cas’ prostate the angel screams and comes in his boxers and collapses so hard on Dean’s chest that he knocks the wind out of him.

“Well. That was climactic,” Dean states once his fingers are out of Cas’ ass.

“I’m sorry,” Cas mumbles against the spot of lube on Dean’s shirt.

Dean laughs and wraps his arms around Cas’ back. “So, how you like being human now?”

“There are some things I could definitely get used to.”

“Hey, uh, so…” Dean shifts awkwardly, and Cas grips his shoulders to get him to stop moving. “Um, you slept with April?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound too thrilled about that.”

“I, um—I didn’t know what to do. I am…not a sexual being myself. I was not attracted to her—I’m rarely attracted to anyone, for that matter—but I did not know what to do about being ‘turned on.’ I assumed that was the solution.”

“Cas, you know you can, like, control it, right? You don’t have to—if your body is doing something weird and wants sex, you don’t _have_ to have sex. You can just ignore it.”

Cas props his chin up on Dean’s chest so he can look him in the eye. “But that was very pleasurable.”

“Sure, yeah, sex is great. And sex with _you_ —I mean…But like you said, you’re not used to it. Look, all I’m saying is don’t freak out and sleep with the first person you see whenever you get turned on, all right? You said it yourself—you weren't attracted to her. If you're not attracted to somebody, don't have sex with them. Hell, you don't have to have sex even if you _are_ attracted to somebody.”

“Yes. Yes, you’re right.” Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s back so their horizontal hug is complete. “I would like to go back to sleep now.”

“OK. Yeah, buddy. Um—you should slide your boxers off though. You don’t want to wake up with dried jizz in your junk.”

When Dean wakes up in the morning with Cas still on top of him drooling onto his already wrecked shirt, he somehow manages to slide out from under the angel without waking him up. He says his name and snaps by his ears, but nothing. Cas is dead to the world.

“Cas sleep all right?” Sam asks as Dean enters the kitchen.

“He’s out like a light. I don’t think he’s gotten a proper night of sleep in, well, ever.”

“So are you two, like, _together?”_

“What?”

“I mean, like—I don’t know, you guys are just all over the place. One second you’re fucking somebody else, and the next you’re sleeping in a bed with him and calling him very serious pet names. Have you even talked about your relationship at all?”

“Look, Sammy, it’s not a relationship. What Cas and I have, it’s just—”

“Bullshit is what it is. Please just talk to him, all right? Can you decide what you want and ask for it for once in your life? If not for you, then for me?”

Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other, moves his coffee mug back and forth between his hands. He honestly hasn’t even thought about this at all, but he’s definitely not going to tell his brother that. “I’m not…I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Jesus, Dean, I mean—Castiel cannot stay here.”

“Ezekiel? The fuck?” Dean straightens out and takes a deep breath.

“He’s dangerous, Dean. The entire host of heaven is after him, and eventually they will find their way here. _I_ am in danger.”

“So what? In case you haven’t noticed, we kind of _live_ in danger, buddy. Get used to it.”

Ezekiel lowers his chin threateningly, and Dean hates seeing that horrible look on his brother’s face. “If Castiel stays, I will leave.”

“No. No, you can’t fucking leave! Sam’s not better, and Cas—”

“Tell him to leave.” Sam relaxes and continues, “It’s _Cas,_ dude. He would do anything for you, and you know that. You just have to ask him.”

Dean’s eyes flit back and forth between Sam and the floor as he tries to process everything that just happened.

“You all right, man?”

“Um, yeah. Yeah—I’m going to go talk to Cas.”

What the hell kind of lie is he supposed to make up for this. And how is he supposed to sound convincing.

Everything he ever wanted is slipping away one step to his room at a time.

 

“Heya, Charlie.”

“Dean! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Uh, need some help actually.”

“It’s about the nerd angel, isn’t it? Rumor has it he lost his wings, huh?”

“What? How did you know—you know what, never mind. No, it’s something different. We need somebody good with computers.”

Dean can hear Charlie opening and closing a door with a bell on it. “So why’d you kick Cas out of the bunker?”

“OK, what the hell did Sammy say to you?”

“You and him need to learn how to, like, I don’t know—talk to each other? Then you might know that he already called me this morning, and I’m on my way now.”

Dean switches the phone to his other ear as he pulls into a drive-thru. “Oh. All right. Um, I guess I’ll see you soon then.”

“Hey, wait! Seriously, what’s the sitch on the great angel-human love affair?”

“Sammy said I kicked Cas out?” Dean asks seriously.

“He said you said Cas had to leave, but he’s not convinced, buddy.”

“Yeah, I figured. Hold on.” Dean places his order at the drive-thru before continuing, “Listen, it’s complicated. But trust me, Cas can’t be living with us.”

“I still don’t understand why you don’t just tell the guy how you feel. I mean, he’s human now. It’s not like a long distance relationship between earth and heaven.”

“Can you just shut up and come to the bunker?”

“Hey! I’m coming to _help_ you bitches, remember? Be nice.”

Dean hands cash to the kid at the window and drives off as soon as he’s got his food. “Listen, sweetheart, I know you want to be BFFs and braid each other’s hair and talk about boys—”

“I don’t even like boys—”

“—But that’s not going to happen, OK? I can handle my personal shit myself.”

“Yeah, you’ve been doing a great job of it so far. How’s that kicking Cas out of the bunker and lying to your brother about it going again?”

If only she knew how much he was actually lying. Fuck. “Fine. You win. I’ll tell you everything _after_ you’ve helped us, all right?”

“Deal. See you later, twinkle toes.”

“I don't know what that means _.”_

"Sure you don't."

"All right, bye, Toph."

He takes a deep breath as he pockets his phone. He needs new friends.

Sam, of course, greets him as if absolutely nothing is wrong and he didn’t gossip with Charlie this morning. When Dean pulls out season one of _Game of Thrones_ and asks if Sam wants to watch it with him, he’s doing it more out of spite than anything. _Who’s the better brother now?_ Of course he was planning on watching the show anyway with or without Sam—he just finished the first book last week after all.

But now Sam’s acting all suspiciously concerned as if it’s totally out of the ordinary for Dean to suggest they take a couple of days off and just do absolutely nothing. As if they ever really had the option before, what with the whole living out of their car thing. In any case, Dean’s just hoping he doesn’t have to have the “you’re craving companionship because you miss Cas already” conversation that’s definitely true but annoying nonetheless.

Charlie makes it to the bunker an hour later, and the remainder of the day is spent badgering her about the fact that she’s been hunting recently while she tinkers with the room-sized computer on ground level.

They get through four episodes of _Game of Thrones_ before Sam kicks Dean, Charlie, Kevin and Krissy out of his room and tells them to take their sleepover somewhere else.

“Uh, we’re running out of furnished rooms unfortunately. Charlie, you can either stay with Krissy or—”

“Oh no, buddy, I’m coming with you,” she interrupt as she links her arm with Dean’s. Then she turns back to Krissy and says, “No offense to you of course. We can continue our game of FMK in the morning.”

Krissy laughs and says good night before turning down the hall, Kevin close at her heels.

“By the way, I didn’t know you and Sam had adopted kids,” Charlie states as they head toward Dean’s room, arms still linked.

“Yeah, well. Trying to make the most of this place I guess.”

“That’s another thing. Why does it look like Sam hasn’t even moved in?”

“I don’t know." Dean considers it for a moment and then decides, "Probably has something to do with going to college and having a stable place...not work out." Shit. Why has he never thought about this before?

As they’re walking into Dean’s fully furnished and well-lived in room, Charlie plops on the bed and says, “You clearly don’t have that problem.”

“I didn’t go to college.”

“But you lived with Lisa.”

“How in the hell do you…”

Charlie pats the bed next to her, and Dean takes the cue and sits. “You should quit drinking, Dean. You clearly don’t remember all the things you say. So, Cas.”

“Smooth segue there, chief.”

“I’m not dropping this until you talk, just so you know.”

So Dean falls back on his bed and talks. And talks some more. He tells Charlie the truth—all of it, even the stuff about Ezekiel, even the stuff about his past—and he can’t help but wonder what it is about this chick that makes him open up like this. Maybe he’s never felt comfortable before because he was afraid of rejection, afraid of being misunderstood, afraid of being judged. But Charlie makes him feel like he can be honest without fear of cruel punishment, and he can be himself and she’ll understand. He needs more gay friends.

And when he’s done, Charlie tells him that everything’s going to be OK. Sure, he’s made some mistakes but it’s nothing he can’t fix and she would’ve done the same in his situation. Sorry for all the shit he’s been through, sorry for how unnecessarily hard his life has been, sorry he’s had to do things that were necessary to survive, sorry nobody’s told him sorry before now. They fall asleep somewhere in the middle of the night, Charlie wrapped up in Dean’s covers and Dean hanging halfway off the other side of the bed.

Less than 24 hours later, Charlie walks through a fucking portal into Oz with Dorothy at her side.

Nobody needs to know that Dean stays up all night staring at the ceiling.

 

Dean figures Sam must know he’s more torn up about Charlie and Cas than he’s letting on, because the morning after Charlie leaves Sam suggests they take a long break. It’s awkward considering Dean is half awake and focused on getting to the coffee pot and now he’s got Sam, Kevin and Krissy all staring at him waiting for an answer.

“What’d you say?”

“I said, we should take a break. Finish season one. Ignore the news. Get some sleep, you know?”

Dean shrugs and answers noncommittally, “Yeah. Yeah, OK. I can do that. Sure.”

Once he has his coffee, he locks himself in his room for the rest of the morning and pretends like he’s not staring at his phone with his thumb hovering over the “Send” button.

_I’m sorry I kicked you out, and I’m sorry I can’t give you a better explanation. I miss you._

He doesn’t send it.

At about noon, there’s a knock on his door. Dean sits up in his bed and adjusts his robe before saying, “Yeah.”

What he isn’t expecting is for Krissy of all people to stick her head in tentatively before slipping inside and standing awkwardly against the door.

“Um, what can I do for you?” Dean asks, leaning forward and resting his hands on his knees.

“Uh, you’re, uh…you’re…”

“I’m a lot of things, you’re going to have to be more specific. And would you get in here and quit being weird?” Dean gestures to his desk chair. “Have a seat.”

Krissy quickly crosses over and grabs the chair before plopping down and saying, “You’re into dudes, right?”

Of all things, that’s not exactly what Dean was expecting. “Uh, yeah.”

“How’d you, um, you know…like, how’d you _know?”_

“I got the same tingly feeling in my belly when I looked at a guy as I did when I looked at a girl,” Dean deadpans.

Krissy rolls her eyes. “No, seriously. Like, how old were you when you decided you were gay?”

“OK, first of all—it’s not a ‘decision.’ It’s more of a-a realization. Second of all, not gay. Not technically. Bisexual is the term I prefer.”

Krissy messes with her sleeves and mumbles an apology.

“Hey, kiddo.” He waits until she looks up at him before continuing, “You know there’s nothing wrong with you if you’re attracted to girls, right?”

“Yeah, no, I just—”

Sam bursts in the room and shouts, “Something’s wrong downstairs, might be Crowley. Need both of you.”

Dean gives Krissy a sympathetic look before grabbing his gun and following after Sam. He’s really wishing right about now that he hadn’t decided to stay in his pajamas all day.

When they get to the dungeon, Crowley is reading a book.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks innocently.

“The-the noise, what was it?” Sam replies, unsure of himself.

“Oh, that? I think what you’re looking for is in the garage.”

“The garage?”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “That’s what it sounded like.” He continues reading.

“Uh, OK, um—Dean, you and Krissy go to the garage and check it out. I’ll stay here with Crowley in case he’s lying.”

The urgency lost now that they know it’s not Crowley, Dean and Krissy sort of half jog down to the garage. As soon as Dean turns the lights on, the urgency returns.

His car’s gone. The Impala’s gone. Baby’s gone. Somebody came in and took her somehow and he can’t breathe and the room is spinning and Baby’s gone and he’s—

 _“Dean,_ get a fucking grip!” Krissy yells at him as she struggles to hold up his weight while he almost faints.

“Baby—she’s—where the fuck—”

“OK, OK, come on. Let’s get back upstairs and reconvene.”

Dean makes a weird humming noise and nods, and he isn’t sure how Krissy gets him all the way back up to the kitchen but she does. Sam and Kevin are already there for some reason.

“The car’s gone,” Krissy announces as she pushes Dean into a chair. “He’s having a panic attack.”

“Yeah, he does that,” Sam says as he kneels in front of Dean. “Dean? It’s going to be all right, OK? We’ll find her.”

“Find who?”

Dean almost pukes at how rapidly Sam, Krissy and Kevin turn to the new voice and raise their weapons.

“Who are you?” Sam demands.

“Oh c’mon, Sam, you don’t recognize me?”

“How’d you get in here?”

Dean finally manages to look over at the guy, and his heart immediately drops. He watches with his mouth open as the dude winks at him and confidently leans against the doorjamb, arms and ankles both crossed.

“Seriously, I’m going to shoot you if you don’t tell me exactly—”

“Why are you a _dude?”_ Dean interrupts.

“Dean, what are you—”

“And more importantly, why the _fuck_ are you British?” Dean stands and moves past Sam and Krissy threateningly, and he _really_ wishes he had changed out of his pajamas today.

The guy gestures his arms out to the sides and replies, “You honestly think I have a gender and a country of origin?”

“Are you an angel?” Sam asks, and Dean actually can’t believe he hasn’t caught on yet.

“I’m sorry, Baby, you are just not what I pictured.”

“What?” That was more than one person, but Dean’s too focused on the creature in front of him to care.

“C’mon, Dean, I’m still you’re number one girl. Does this make it better?” He lifts his t-shirt and once Dean gets past the impressive abs, he sees the “S.W.” and “D.W.” etched into his right hip and gasps.

“OK, seriously, what the fuck is going—”

“Sammy, this is the Impala,” Dean explains.

“What?” Sam, Krissy and Kevin all ask in unison as they lower their weapons.

“How did you just _know_ that?” Kevin asks.

Dean keeps staring at the familiar face in front of him. He tries not to return the smirk Baby’s sporting but it’s really damn hard. “Kid, this car and I have been through more together than you ever have in your 18 years of life. I would recognize her anywhere.”

“You’ve got a good point there, Dean,” the Impala responds with another wink. “I’m a little disappointed Sam here didn’t recognize me. I mean, you _were_ me at one time.”

Sam blinks several times and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I’m still just trying to wrap my head around the fact that the Impala is a large, black, British man.”

“Yeah, Baby, what’s up with that? Seriously, why are you British?”

“I’m going to hazard a guess here and say that the Wicked Witch of the West zapped me before Charlie went off to Oz. I don’t know why she put me in this body with this accent. I’m a car.”

“So how do we turn you back?” Krissy pipes up from where she’s taken a seat at the kitchen table and is fiddling with her gun.

“Hell if I know, you guys are the experts. I’m just the transportation.”

“Aw come on, Baby, you know you’re more than that.”

“Dean, stop flirting with the car.”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“Well, I’m going to go do some research on…object to human transformation and how to switch it back,” Kevin announces. “Sam, want to join?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. Dean, uh…”

“Nah, you guys go ahead. I’m going to just, ah, hang out with Baby for a while.” Now they’re _really_ smirking at each other, and Dean ignores the awkwardness that hangs over the rest of the people in the room. “See you guys later,” he says as he walks past Baby and grabs his hand to pull him down the hall.

They barely make it into Dean’s room before they’re making out, Baby saying some lame line about “it’s time I get inside _you_ for a change,” and Dean’s pretty sure he blacks out with excitement soon after that.

Nobody bothers them for the 12 hours they disappear, and nobody says anything when they stumble into the kitchen the next morning looking thoroughly debauched. The only issue that comes up is that Baby can’t eat real food, so Dean has to get some gasoline from the garage and pour it into a cup without puking. He doesn’t watch when Baby drinks it.

Krissy steals a car for them since she's not done fixing up her bike, and later that afternoon Sam and Dean go on a supply run together.

“You fucked the car,” Sam deadpans after several minutes of silence.

“Technically, the car fucked _me.”_

_“You fucked the car.”_

“Dude, weirder things have happened. You fucked a demon! And a werewolf. Hell, I’ve fucked an angel. And a siren. _Weirder things have happened.”_

“But…our _car._ What are we going to do when she’s a car again? Huh?”

It takes Dean a long time to answer. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

Sam pushes his head back into the seat and sighs. “You fucked our car.”

After Dean gives it some thought, he decides he really shouldn’t fuck Baby. But that doesn’t mean they can’t sleep in the same bed together—God knows he’s slept in her backseat enough times for _that_ not to be weird.

What _is_ weird is when Dean wakes up on the third morning with a woman in his bed, lying naked on her stomach with her face pushed into the pillow.

“Uh, Baby?” Dean asks tentatively, because surely this isn’t some _different_ person than who he went to sleep with.

“Hmm?” she asks without turning over.

“I think you might’ve—you kind of changed in the night I guess.”

That gets her to move, and once she looks down at herself, she shoves her face back in the pillow and says, “Yep.”

“Um.”

“Need a few more minutes, Dean.”

At least she’s not British anymore. “Oh—OK, I’m going to, um…yeah.”

When Dean comes back half an hour later, Baby’s tying a belt around one of his flannels in order to wear it as a dress. She turns around to greet him, and Dean nearly collapses against the doorframe.

“You’re-you’re the girl from—oh my god, _oh my god.”_

“Dean? What the hell are you—”

“The alternate universe! Where I was-I was a TV star and my wife…her name was Danielle or Neil or something? You’re her! You’re fucking—” Dean cuts himself off by crossing the room and picking her up in one swift motion as he locks their lips together.

 

“You fucked the Impala again.”

“Listen, Sammy—”

 

She changes back into the British guy. Dean knows exactly when it happens because he’s only half asleep and can feel her arm wrapped around his waist and suddenly it’s not so awkward anymore that Dean’s the little spoon.

When he stupidly winces as he sits at the kitchen table the next morning, Sam throws his arms in the air and yells, _“Really?”_ before storming out and mumbling nonsense under his breath.

“I know you’re just jealous, Sammy!”

 

Dean is in the middle of motorboating the “girl” version of the Impala when his phone rings and Cas’ name flashes across the screen.

With any other girl, it would be embarrassing how he simultaneously grabbed for his phone and flopped off of her body and onto the floor, but this is the Impala. She knows Dean’s heart probably better than he knows it himself.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she says seriously as Dean flips over onto his back on the floor and answers his phone.

“Cas.”

“I may have a case for you.”

“Well, hello to you, too, Cas. How are you?”

“I…am busy.”

Something breaks on the other end of the line, and Dean hears some sloshy substance spilling everywhere. Ignoring it, Dean says, “All right, so how do you want to do this? You want to meet at the latest scene? You want me to pick you up? What?”

“Um. I’ve got my hands full over here. I just—um—thought you would want to know about the case.”

“Hey, you sure everything’s—”

Cas hangs up.

“I really wish you were a car right now,” Dean says to Baby as he gets to his feet and kisses her forehead.

“You and me both, baby.”

“I told you, it’s weird when _you_ call _me_ baby, Baby.”

“Whatever, sweetheart. Go get your angel. Wish I could help you.”

“Thanks. We’ll get you back to normal soon, all right? Promise.”

“Don’t make promises to me, Dean. I know exactly how many promises you’ve kept in your life.”

Dean purses his lips and stares at his car. “Touché. I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

“Don’t cheat on me with any other cars!” she shouts as he heads out the door.

His life is fucking weird.

 

* * *

 

It’s been exactly two weeks and three days since Cas talked to Dean.

He was too tired to be angry at first. All that shit about telling Cas to “haul ass” to the bunker, tracking him down, making sure he was safe and OK—that’s exactly what it was: shit. The complete 180 from the gentle words and soft praises and warm baths and good food to “you can’t stay here because it’ll bring a bunch of angels down on our heads” is something that Cas isn’t sure how to get over. These small things, the little details—they seem so much more overwhelming and life altering now that he’s human. His anger is more profound, his emotional state is less stable. He has been God and an angel and Leviathan, but by far the most difficult thing to be is human.

But for that first day he was just tired. He allowed Dean to drive him to a train station, and he took the money Dean offered without even thinking about it. He slept so long on the train that he accidentally ended up in Idaho, and it was by sheer luck that he saw the “hiring” sign in the Gas’n’Sip. Forging the paperwork was one of the most difficult things he’s done as a human.

No, it wasn’t until day two when he woke up on the side of the road that he realized how furious he was with Dean. He spent the entire morning coming up with excuse after excuse to explain why his charge would do such a contradictory thing, but he came up with nothing. At least it’s not the first time Dean has done something that has confused the hell out of him.

On day four, Cas stared at his phone trying to decide if he should call or text Dean or something. He didn’t.

On day six, he tried to figure out how to get in contact with Meg. He could use a friend at a time like this.

On day seven, he didn’t think about Dean at all. He found an empty church and sat in the back pew. He didn’t pray, but he thought about his brothers and sisters and wondered how they were faring since the fall.

He walked for miles and miles and stared at the trees from a different perspective than he ever has before. They are enormous, and he is small. He is no longer like them.

He ate by himself at a small café where the server smiled with her gums and told him about her classes. She said he had pretty eyes. He burnt his tongue on the vegetable soup.

He likes being Steve. He likes that Nora appreciates his work, and he likes _doing_ the work. The small things. The details that make a difference in the lives of the people that come into the gas station. It’s simple, and it’s satisfying, and Cas is sick of having the weight of the world on his shoulders. He is sick of feeling responsible for everything and everyone, and he would like to continue on this neutral ground. He is not being punished, but he’s not necessarily being rewarded either. He is human, and he is doing the best he can.

When he calls Dean about the case, it isn’t until the phone is ringing that he remembers his rage. It isn’t until he hears Dean’s voice that he has to choke back an “I miss you, come see me please.” It isn’t until he hangs up that he realizes calling Dean was a mistake.

“I’ll have some beef jerky and a pack of menthols.”

Cas vaguely remembers his heart doing weird things when he first dealt with Dean while in his new vessel. It took him a long time to decipher what each feeling meant. Now he doesn’t even have to think about it. His heart feels like it’s in his throat. He knows what that means.

“What are you doing here?”

“Gee, it’s nice to see you, too, Cas.”

“It’s _Steve_ now. And, uh, you know you surprised me.”

“Well, the feeling is mutual. I mean, I knew you had to lay low from the angel threat, but, uh, wow. This is some cover.”

“The condescension is unwelcome when you are the one who sent me away from a nice home and a warm bed, Dean.” As an angel, Cas knows logically that he would never purposely say something that he knows is going to hurt Dean. As a human, he is more concerned about his own hurt.

Dean blinks and pulls his head back before responding, “OK, I deserved that. You’re right.”

“No. No, it’s all right. I shouldn’t’ve…”

“No, you should’ve. It’s OK, Cas. I get you’re mad at me.” Dean scratches the back of his head and looks around the store. “So, uh, working at a Gas’n’Sip, huh?”

Cas lets the subject change happen, explaining to Dean that he’s a sales associate and that he actually really enjoys his job.

“But, uh, you going to help me on this case?”

“I have responsibilities here, Dean.” Cas picks up a box and moves out from behind the counter so that other customers don’t think his register is open.

“This is not you, man. You’re above this. Come on.”

“No, Dean. I’m not. I failed at being an angel. Everything I ever attempted came out wrong. But here, at least I have a shot at getting things right.”

“What do you mean you failed at—”

“Hate to interrupt you guys, but, Steve? Customer had an accident in the men’s room,” Nora says.

“I’m on it,” Cas replies.

“Oh, and tonight—7 at my place work for you?”

Cas nods sheepishly and turns back to his work.

“That’s what this is about,” Dean says blandly.

“What?”

“The girl.”

Cas elects to ignore the bitterness in Dean’s tone. “No. It’s not. Nora is a very nice woman, and I’m pretty sure she’s not a reaper intent on killing me. And she’s asked me out. Going on dates—that’s something humans do, right?”

“Cas…” Dean stops himself and shakes his head.

“What?”

“Quit doing things just because it’s what humans are _supposed_ to do!”

“I don’t under—”

“You didn’t even want to sleep with that reaper, not really. Hell, did you even want to sleep with _me?_ Buddy, you can’t just do things because you think it’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“I’m going on this date, Dean.”

They stare at each other, and then Dean’s phone rings.

When he hangs up, he turns back to Cas and says, “There was another kill, over at the high school. You coming?”

“I wouldn’t be much use. I don’t have my grace.”

“So? I’ve never had grace.”

“You are a hunter.”

“And you’re a hunter in training, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. You said I sucked.”

“I didn’t say that. I said there was, uh, room for improvement. OK, listen, I say a lot of shitty things, all right? Now come on.”

“All right, my shift’s over in five minutes, and my date’s not until later, so…”

“Atta boy! I’ll go get the car. Oh, it’s, uh, not the Impala. Just a warning.”

“What happened to the Im—”

“Don’t worry about it. Finish your shift.”

The crime scene feels different now that Castiel is human. He understands the fragility of life a lot clearer than he did before, and when he recognizes the pattern of the deaths, his heart aches.

He remembers when he was fighting Raphael—he remembers what the battlefield was like. He remembers finding his soldiers wounded or on the edge of death, and he would call for a healer to come and take care of them. He would thank them for their services, bow his heads and pray as they were taken care of or killed. It all seemed so…methodical back then. Part of the job.

After Cas explains the situation to Dean, Dean says, “All right, well, we got to stop him.”

“You have to stop him.”

“You’re scared.”

He’s been scared since the moment he fell. “It’s different now, Dean. Everything’s different.”

“You’re right. I’ll track down this, uh, Kevorkian wannabe, and I’ll put him down. You-you stay safe. Go on that date, all right? Do, uh, human things.”

Cas can’t help the smile that quirks at his mouth, and he doesn’t stop himself from leaning across the front seat of the stolen car and pressing his lips against Dean’s. Dean makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat before wrapping a strong hand around Cas’ neck and deepening the kiss. When they break apart, Cas drops his forehead to Dean’s and huffs a laugh.

“I was hoping you’d do that since the second I got here,” Dean whispers through a nervous laugh.

“I’m still angry.”

“That’s OK.”

“I still have to go on that date.”

“That’s—all right.” Dean kisses him again. “I’ll drive you.”

Cas nods and sits back in his seat, puts his seatbelt on, stares out the windshield and pretends like he can’t feel Dean’s eyes on him.

Three minutes into the 10-minute car ride, Dean reaches over and squeezes Cas’ knee and leaves his hand there. They don’t say anything.

When Dean parks outside Nora’s house, he removes his hand from Cas’ knee and looks at him expectantly.

“Thanks, Dean.”

“Cas. Wait. I can’t let you do this.”

For a very brief moment, Cas lets himself believe that Dean is going to say something along the lines of _come home with me._

Instead, Dean says, “You can’t wear your gas station uniform on a date.”

“This is all I have, Dean.”

It’s an awkward couple of minutes as Dean tells Cas how to look more presentable and then finally as Cas is getting out of the car, Dean grabs his hand and pulls him back down for one more kiss.

“I don’t think this is proper behavior when I am about to go on a date with someone else,” Cas mumbles against Dean’s mouth.

“Don’t care.”

“Dean! I have to go.” He pulls away and shuts the door before Dean can do anything else.

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours! Call me if something goes wrong!” Dean shouts despite Cas gesturing desperately at him to shut the hell up and leave.

Not five minutes later, Cas comes to the realization that Nora did not actually invite him on a date.

He calls Dean immediately.

“The baby’s crying,” Cas explains as soon as he opens the door.

Dean doesn’t even try to hide his smug smile. “Babysitting. Nora totally thinks you and me are banging, dude.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be wrong. Please help me.”

It’s strange watching Dean take care of a small child. It’s not strange because it’s out of character—after all, Cas secretly watched Dean interact with Ben more times than he’s willing to admit—but it’s strange that it’s making Cas’ anger ebb away. Dean is gentle and soft and caring and knows exactly what to do to get the baby to calm down and go back to sleep. And Cas is calmed by it, neutralized.

Being human is weird.

“What?” Dean asks after putting Tanya back in her crib and finding Cas staring at him.

Cas shakes his head and breaks eye contact. “Nothing, it’s just—”

There is a sound at the front door. They rush to the foyer, but it’s too late. A healer Cas is familiar with, Ephraim, is right inside the door.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asks at the same time Cas asks, “How’d you find me?”

Ephraim turns a smile on Cas. “Because you’re warded? The same way I find all my patients—I just followed the sound of your pain. You have no idea how loud it is. I could hear you for miles.”

Cas backs up, and Dean follows suit. Ephraim comes toward them, but Cas keeps talking. “Do you really think you’re doing heaven’s work down here?”

“I know I am.”

“Well, you’re wrong. This isn’t a battlefield. Earth can be a hard place, yes, but these humans…they can get better. They’re just doing the best they can.”

“Is that what you think you’re doing, Castiel? The best you can? Well, I’m sorry, but if this is the best the famed Castiel can do, you’re a more urgent case than I thought. I used to admire you. You failed more often than you succeeded. But at least you played big.”

Ephraim lunges at Castiel, but Dean goes at him with an angel blade and nearly gets to him before he’s thrown violently against a wall. Cas is acutely aware of the baby crying again. He barely notices that Ephraim brings him to his knees.

“Shh, shh. It’ll be over soon. I’ll take the pain away.”

“I want to live.”

“But as what, Castiel? As an angel? Or a man?”

“Just— _life._ I don’t want to die!”

“But you can’t see what I see. By choosing a human life, you’ve already given up. You chose death.”

“I didn’t choose to be—”

Cas is cut off by a knife sliding across the floor and landing at his heel. On instinct, he picks it up and stabs Ephraim right through the heart.

He watches as the light pours from the angel’s body, and he knows, logically, that he should not be able to witness this as a human. His eyes should be burning out. But then again, when he lost his grace his eyes should’ve stopped being blue, too. Maybe he doesn’t have to choose between man and angel. Maybe he is something else entirely.

It isn’t until Ephraim’s vessel’s body collapses to the floor that Cas registers what he just did. Killing angels—another thing that is more emotionally crippling as a human.

“Cas, you OK?” Dean asks as he comes up behind him and wraps an arm around his shoulder.

Cas turns into Dean’s arms and drops his face to his chest.

“Shh, Cas, it’s OK. It’s all right.”

“We need to-we need to clean before Nora comes home,” Cas mutters against Dean’s jacket.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

They barely make it in time. Disposing of a body is a lot harder than Cas ever imagined it would be, and all he can do is hope that the evidence is gone when Nora walks through the front door.

What Cas forgets is that Dean is in the house with him.

“Steve, is this…?”

“Oh! Um, sorry. Uh, Tanya had a fever and my-my friend talked me out of taking her to the hospital. He helped.” Cas awkwardly gestures to Dean.

“Yeah, uh, sorry, Nora. I’ll, uh, get out of your hair.”

Dean starts to move toward the door as Nora states, “Well, thank you both. I’m sorry if it was a more eventful evening than I said it would be.”

It’s even more awkward as Dean and Cas both shuffle toward the door and say bye to Nora and Dean reaches back for Cas’ hand and leads him out to the car. Nora smiles as if she knew all along that they weren’t _really_ friends.

“Where to, buddy?” Dean asks as he opens the passenger door for Cas.

 _The bunker_ , Cas thinks bitterly before responding, “Your hotel is fine.”

Dean climbs in the car and looks at Cas very seriously. “You’re not still—you’re not living on the street, are you?”

“I don’t have enough money yet to pay rent anywhere. I sleep in the back room of the Gas’n’Sip most nights.”

Dean rubs Cas’ knee reassuringly. “I’ll get you some cash in the morning. Get an apartment, dude. Find a roommate. I can’t…”

“What?”

“I can’t think about you not having a home.”

Cas doesn’t respond.

It’s a longer ride back to Dean’s hotel, and Cas falls asleep with his head against the window. He is vaguely aware when they park and Dean comes to grab him—aware enough to wrap his arms and legs around Dean so he can carry him inside.

He is vaguely aware when Dean pulls his pants off for him.

Vaguely aware when Dean tucks him in.

Vaguely aware when Dean crawls into bed behind him, whispers, “Night, Cas,” and kisses his shoulder.

Vaguely aware when Dean rolls to the other side of the bed and pointedly does not touch him all night.

He is fully aware when Dean whispers, “I would kill to have you back home with me, Castiel.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episodes 9 and 10 of season 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again: FUCK Buckleming.

With the Common App he could apply to a bunch of places all at once. Columbia would probably still take him. He could write an essay about demons and angels and Leviathan and shit. What was his SAT score again? Crap, how could he forget? What has happened to his life?

“Hey Sam, did you get a scholarship to Stanford or did you have to take out loans?”

“What?”

Oh right, he’s supposed to be researching how to translate the rest of this cuneiform or how to get the Impala back to being a car or literally anything else besides looking up universities.

“Uh, nothing. Any luck on the Impala?”

Sam does that concerned face thing as he sits next to Kevin. “Buddy, are you thinking about going to college?”

Kevin runs a hand down his face and then back up through his hair. “I mean, yeah. I know it’s unrealistic, but everything’s going to work out eventually, right? We’re going to get the angels back to heaven and Abaddon and Crowley will just kill each other and I’ll be free to live my life.” He takes a deep breath before continuing, “Right?”

“I don’t know if it’s that simple, Kevin. I-I thought at one point I would go back, too. Back to a normal life and, uh, a normal job and whatever. Go to law school, get married, have kids…” Sam stares down at the table and taps his fingers nervously. “I don’t know if we ever told you, but, uh, I was psychic.”

“What?”

“I could see things before they’d happen—bad things. It was, um, horrifying. And-and it just got even more horrifying, you know? I was like some chosen prodigy demon candidate that had demon blood shoved down my mouth when I was half a year old, and nobody told me. Nobody told me I was a freak until…”

“When?” Kevin whispers so quietly he’s surprised Sam even hears him.

“It was too late. Even without all that, I never would’ve had a normal life. I could’ve tried, but…” He ends by shaking his head.

Kevin doesn’t say anything. It’s completely silent for several seconds.

“You’re a prophet of the Lord, buddy. You’re not—you’re not a freak or a monster. You can get out of this, yes, but what if it’s too late?”

“Doesn’t mean I have to stop trying.”

Sam huffs a self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah, I still feel that way sometimes. I’ve tried and tried over the years, and, well, here we are.”

Kevin turns back to his laptop and exits out of the dozen or so tabs of university websites. “I’ll, uh, I’ll get back to research. Um, you talk to Crowley lately or—”

“I got a scholarship to Stanford,” Sam interrupts. “Didn’t have to pay a dime. I, uh, wouldn’t recommend it though. I was a blue collar kid with a shitty home life in an environment with a bunch of pretentious, rich yuppies.”

“You sound like Dean.”

“I _felt_ like Dean. Look up stats for universities with a high rate of people on scholarship or financial aid. You’ll be better off finding kids similar to you.”

“I doubt anybody is similar to me anymore,” Kevin says mostly to himself.

Sam pats him on the back. “I’ll help you if you want. God knows I owe you.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Kevin mumbles as Sam leaves the room.

He opens back up all the university website tabs.

 

* * *

 

_Dear boy, you’re all duct tape and safety pins inside. How are you alive?_

_How are you alive?_

_How are you alive?_

It’s not the same as when Sam was soulless.

_What are you?_

_You’re not human._

When he was soulless, he didn’t actually give a fuck that he was messed up. He pretended like he cared, but he didn’t.

_How are you alive?_

_How are you alive?_

Now he can’t get the words out of his head.

Jody was there. She killed the goddess herself. And afterward, she took Sam aside and told him, “You’re all right. Whatever she’s talking about—you’ll figure it out, all right? Besides, you look just fine to me.”

Sam trusts Jody implicitly. He believes whatever she tells him. Ever since she gave him the nod to go inside her house and kill her only son…well, he knew she would never lie to him. She would never call him a freak or a monster or a murderer—she had seen him do a necessary evil, the worst evil possible in her eyes, and she thanked him for it.

So why is it, then, that it’s Vesta’s words ringing in his head instead of Jody’s?

All he can get out of Dean is “those trials fucked you up, man,” “those trials nearly killed you,” “the trials, Sam,” “blame the trials.”

Sam’s been pressing his thumb into his palm a lot lately. He’s been trying to remember what it was like when Lucifer was—when he was in his head and ripping him apart from the inside out. He tries to remember how real his brother was, how his brother did everything he could to ground Sam in reality, to keep him going even when Dean himself didn’t want to keep going.

Now Sam is asking for that same help—albeit, in a much less panicked way—because he keeps losing chunks of time but otherwise he feels fantastic and it doesn’t make any sense at all but Dean for some goddamn reason won’t do anything to help him.

So Sam presses his palm and remembers a time when his big brother was actually acting like his big brother.

When they get to Wyoming, Sam’s mood immediately lifts when they find Cas at the crime scene acting like a fucking FBI agent.

“Agent.”

“Agent.”

Dean rolls his eyes at both of them. “Cas, what the hell are you doing?”

“Um, I still have the badge you gave me.”

Sam briefly wonders in what scenario Dean would need to give Cas a fake badge, but then he realizes he really does _not_ want to chase that line of thinking any further.

“Yeah, uh. What the hell are you doing?” Dean repeats, even more frustrated.

“The murders were all over the news. I-I thought I might be of help.”

“Yeah, but, Cas, you know this is an angel situation, right? I mean, you left a while back because angels were on your ass.”

“Yeah, and you were living the life, you know? Early retirement, working your way up the Gas’n’Sip ladder?” Dean cuts in unnecessarily. Sam decides not to question it.

They talk about the case and Dean continues to be a dick to Cas, which is definitely something Sam’s going to ask about later. He was suspicious when Cas inexplicably left the bunker without so much as a goodbye and Dean’s flimsy excuse that angels were tracking him, but now he feels angry. Like Dean and Cas are keeping secrets from him just like they kept their fucked up relationship a secret for so many years.

“What’s going on with Cas?” Sam asks as they head out to the car.

“I don’t know, man. I mean, ‘Cas is back in town’? What the _hell_ was that?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. He didn’t actually leave the bunker of his own free—”

“Hey, guys,” Cas cuts in behind them, drawing out the word “guys” like he’s trying it on for size.

“Cas, what are you doing?” Dean asks, still sounding irritated.

“I, um, could use a ride.”

Dean’s face softens a little at that, and he gestures his head for Cas to get in the backseat of the Honda they’re currently driving.

When Cas states the name of his hotel, Dean ignores him and stops at a bar they passed on their way into town. There’s a small smile on Cas’ face as they pile out of the car.

“It is so good being together again. I hope it’s OK, me joining you?” Cas asks once they’re inside.

“Why wouldn’t it be OK?” Sam responds, and yeah, there’s definitely something suspicious going on here.

“You know, Cas, are you sure you’re ready to jump back into all this? I mean, it seemed to me like you’d—you’d actually found some peace.”

Sam knows Dean’s lying, but Cas doesn’t seem to notice. He just answers, “Hey, you once told me that you don’t choose what you do. It chooses you. I’m a part of this. Like it or not.”

Dean and Cas share a look, one of their secret looks that Sam doesn’t really want anything to do with, and then the conversation continues. Sam tunes out for a bit wondering what the hell happened when Dean visited Cas in Idaho a few weeks back. Cas finding peace? Dean purposely pushing him away into a human life? A life _without_ Dean? None of this makes sense. 

 

* * *

 

“I, um, I noticed you look…kind of uncomfortable whenever Sam mentions my leaving. Doesn’t he know that you told me to leave?”

“Here’s the deal. When Sam was doing the trials to seal up hell, it messed him up, OK? The third one nearly killed him. He’s still messed up—bad.” Dean takes a long pull from his beer and doesn’t look at Cas.

“You said the angel, Ezekiel, helped heal him.”

“Look, I got to do anything I can to get him back. Now, if that means we keep our distance from you for a little while, then…then I don’t have a choice. I don’t feel good about it, but I don’t have a choice. It’s great to have your help, Cas, OK? But we just can’t—we can’t work together.”

Dean picks at the label on his beer and barely registers when Cas reaches his hand over tentatively and touches Dean’s fingers. Dean looks up at him.

“I understand, Dean.”

Dean nods and turns his palm up so he can squeeze Cas’ hand. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas laces their fingers together. “You and I…Wh-where do we stand?”

Dean’s eyes widen, and he leans across the table to press a reassuring kiss to Cas’ lips. “When all this is over…you and me are going to—we’re going to talk, all right? We’ll talk, Cas.”

Cas squeezes his hand one more time. “I’d like that.”

When Sam comes back, it’s Cas who suggests they wrap up. It’s Cas who insists he go to his own hotel despite Sam saying it’s cool if he wants to stay with Dean. It’s Cas who doesn’t show up the next morning to help with the case.

On the ride back to the bunker, it’s Sam who brings it up.

“Did you and Cas…”

“Spit it out.”

“Did you guys break up?”

“What? No! We’re not even—why are you asking me this?”

“Because you’re being really weird! You’re treating him like—not well, and you kept saying things that didn’t make any sense. And then he just up and disappears? He didn’t actually leave the bunker that night, did he? You kicked him out.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” Dean is so fucking sick of lying, so fuck it.

“Something happened, and you broke up—and then you went to Idaho to try to fix it, and it just made things worse. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Well, lying is a lot easier if Sam’s just going to do it for him. “Yeah. Can we shut up about this now?”

Sam shakes his head and huffs a humorless laugh. “You two are unbelievable. You know, if you would just—”

“Can you not meddle in my relationship with Cas for once, Sammy? Why do you think I didn’t tell you for so long?”

It was a low blow, yeah, but it gets Sam to shut the hell up.

 

The next 48 hours rival the apocalypse in how objectively horrible they are.

Dean gets a frantic call from Cas, who tells him he was tortured and stole an angel’s grace and all Dean can think is _are you OK, please be OK, please be OK, please be OK._

That is, until Cas tells Dean that Ezekiel is dead, and Dean feels like he’s back in purgatory again.

Combat on all sides, panic, frantic scrambling. Except now Benny’s not here to get him through it.

He yells at Kevin. He doesn’t actually tell him anything, but he knows the kid is suspicious. He yells so loud that Krissy shows up and asks what the fuck is going on. Dean shouts at her to go to her room, and she shoves him and asks what the hell his problem is. Dean directs his rage at her. Kevin has to break them up.

Sam is still MIA.

Kevin comes up with a spell in just two hours, and he and Dean get it all worked out in their own blood on the walls of the storeroom.

Kevin keeps asking questions, and Dean keeps fielding them. He’s calmer now, but it’s still irritating.

“Dean, we just painted sigils in the storeroom. What the hell?”

“You’re going to have to trust me, OK? Trust that I told you everything I can for now. Can you do that for me?”

“I always trust you. And I always end up screwed.”

“Hey, you’re still here, right? You’ve helped save the fucking world, kid. This is going to be OK, all right? You can trust me.”

Sam comes back that night.

Dean guessed right—he comes back from a beer run and is already in the storeroom when Dean gets downstairs.

It feels…good to tell him everything, to tell him the truth. It feels righteous. Pure. Like he’s confessing.

But then Sam ignores him. Dean is shouting and screaming at him to expel Ezekiel, and all Sam does is punch him in the face.

That…was not a human’s strength.

That was not Sammy.

By the time Dean gets upstairs, the angel is already burning Kevin’s eyes out.

 

* * *

 

_“Cas…_ you got to get to the bunker, man. Please. I-I-I don’t know what to do. Please, Cas.”

“Shh, Dean, it’s OK. I’m on my way. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

Cas goes a little faster after he hangs up. Driving is easier than he thought it would be, but it’s still very stressful not knowing what’s going on with Dean or why he all the sudden wants his help at the bunker so badly. He fears the worst, but he needs to stay focused on the road ahead.

He’s two miles from the bunker when the car runs out of gas. He really misses his wings.

Dean doesn’t hear him come in. He’s sitting in the war room with his fingers templed together, staring straight ahead at the wall.

“Dean.”

He turns and looks at Cas hopefully, and he actually breaks into a genuine smile. “Cas. Now look at you, all suited up and back in the game.”

“I, um, I came as soon as you called. I was—“ He notices lamps and books and papers strewn across the floor. “Dean, what happened? What’s wrong?”

Something breaks in Dean, and it’s like he’s just now remembered the reasons why he called Cas in the first place. “Uh, have a seat. I got some things I need to tell you about.”

Cas hangs on his every word. He might have some grace back, but he still feels very human reactions to everything Dean says.

_I forced Sam to consent. I couldn’t lose him. He was—he was ready to die, and I forced him._

_I thought I could trust the guy. It was so hard—I hated it. I hated lying to you, to Sam, to everybody. I-I should’ve known…_

“Dean, if the angel possessing Sam isn’t Ezekiel, then who is it?”

“Dead man walking.”

“If you kill an angel, the vessel dies, too, Dean.”

“Think I don’t know that? If I don’t end Sam and that halo burns him out and I…God, I was so damn stupid.”

Cas moves around the table and places a strong hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You were stupid for the right reasons.”

Dean pulls away from his touch. “Yeah, like that matters.”

“It does. Sometimes that’s all that matters.”

Cas tries to comfort Dean again. Dean pulls away more forcefully this time.

“Dean…”

“I, uh, I got to show you something, Cas. Follow me.”

Dean walks slow, heavy, like each step is harder and harder as he goes. Cas resists the urge to place a hand on his lower back to keep him steady. Finally, they get to a bedroom and Dean hesitantly pushes the door open.

Krissy, or who Cas assumes is Krissy, is sitting in a chair by the bed. There is someone on the bed, but Cas doesn’t see who it is until Krissy leans back and—

Kevin Tran’s eyes have been burned out by an angel.

“Can you—can you do anything for him?” Dean asks timidly.

Cas walks over to the bed and reaches down to touch Kevin’s mind.

It’s a mess.

“Whoever did this…stopped right before death. Probably because they knew an archangel would smite them if they followed through. Kevin is very—he’s sick. But I will do my best to help him.”

“I’ve looked up some stuff,” Krissy says. “I’ve gotten him to calm down significantly, and he’s even slept for a few hours.” She pushes his hair back and runs her finger along the outside of his burned eye. “I’m Krissy, by the way.”

“Castiel. Have you done anything for the burns?”

“Yeah, they’re actually pretty…normal burns, for being an angel thing and all. They’ll heal naturally if we take care of them, but, uh, there’s no hope for his eyes.”

“Yes. You take care of his physical damage, and I will tend to his mind. Teamwork, right?”

Krissy smiles shyly at him and nods. “He’s going to be OK, right?”

“We’re going to do our best.”

Cas turns to where he thought Dean was standing in the doorway. The man is gone.

 

* * *

 

Dean goes down to the garage and shoots some targets for no reason. He knows if he goes back to his room, the Impala will be there asking if everything’s all right and wondering if there’s anything she can do and Dean just really fucking wishes he had his _car_ right now.

It’s only been five minutes since he left Kevin’s room when he gets a text from Cas.

_I think I know how to save Sam._

Dean doesn’t want to go back to Kevin’s room. He doesn’t want to face the life he ruined. Somehow, Cas seems to know that.

_I’ll meet you in the hallway._

Cas tells him they need to use Crowley in order to get inside the angel’s head and figure out who he is and what he wants. Also, he's fairly certain Crowley has a system in place that can track fallen angels. Like a network of demons that keep tabs on the angels' known vessels.

As much as Dean hates it, he’d rather Crowley be doing something besides rotting in their basement and fucking with them.

"That thing you did to Alfie, you can still do it, right? And while we're at it, you know how to track down angels?"

Crowley squints suspiciously at Dean and then Cas and replies, “No, I can’t teach you how to crack open an angel. It’s more…art than science, really. But I can do it for you. All I ask for is a field trip. Dying for some fresh air. Chains on, naturally.”

“No.”

“No? Because if I’m plan A, then you must have a totally viable, much better plan B.”

Dean doesn’t look over at Cas, but then the angel’s yanking him to the side and it’s the first time since he got here that he’s allowed Cas to touch him.

“You can’t be considering this,” Cas growls.

“With the chains on, he can’t do anything.”

“It’s Crowley. He can always do something.”

“My god, you two are like a telenovela in its 20th season. Looks like we need a tiebreaker. Go get Moose.”

Dean can’t control his reaction. He doesn’t fucking care right now.

“Unless-unless of course you can’t. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? The poor, giant baby’s in trouble again, isn’t he?”

“Are you done?”

“Depends. Do we have a deal?”

“Yeah.”

“Excellent. When do we leave?”

“Soon as I can scrounge up a ride.”

“Well, I have a vehicle. It's out of gas,” Cas says.

Dean brings a can with them and fills up Cas' car when they get to it. His pimp car. With rap music playing very loudly. Dean tucks that away to ask about later.

“So,” Crowley says from the backseat, and then he waits like he’s expecting Dean or Cas to say something.

They don’t.

“What’s it been for you two now? Four, five years? You ever going to settle down and start a new life together?”

“Shut up, Crowley,” Dean and Cas say in unison.

“Touchy, touchy. I’m just trying to play matchmaker so you two can win best interspecies gay couple of the cen—”

Dean wasn’t watching, but he’s _pretty_ sure Cas just socked Crowley in the face.

They’re silent for the rest of the car ride. Dean turns the rap music up.

 

* * *

 

The case makes very little sense. First of all, why cheerleaders? Second of all, why are there so many dead cheerleaders in this city? Third of all, is Dean a ghoul? Is he the one eating dead cheerleaders? Seems like the best explanation so far.

Sam closes his laptop in frustration and barely notices when Kevin walks in the room.

“Hey man, how are you doing?”

Kevin shrugs and takes a seat at the table next to Sam’s. “OK I guess. How’s the cheerleader case going?”

“Nowhere. Please tell me you have a lead on the Impala, or something on the tablet?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too.”

“You’re always sorry.”

“Because I’ll always feel responsible that you’re in this mess with us. Hey, how’s that college search going?”

Kevin tenses up and scratches his head. “Uh, I haven’t really—”

“Moose. Um, prophet?”

Sam reaches for his gun and stands to face Crowley.

“Poughkeepsie.” 

 

* * *

 

“Hey.”

“I can’t watch that anymore.”

“I understand. It’s not Sam, but…it’s still Sam.”

“Pretty much, yeah. How are you doing?”

Cas ignores the break in Dean’s voice. “You want to talk about me now?”

“I want to talk about anything that’s not a demon sticking needles into my brother’s brain.” Dean hunches his shoulders and drops his head. Then he quickly composes himself and looks up at the ceiling. “Yeah, humor me, man. How you doing?”

“Uh…I’m OK.” Dean so rarely asks the question that Cas isn’t sure what kind of answer to give.

“Good, good. That’s, uh…” He turns around and doesn’t make eye contact. “So, what, you just change the batteries out, power back up? It’s that easy?”

“It wasn’t easy, but I didn’t have a choice.”

Dean finally looks at him like he’s hearing him. “But you’re-you’re OK?”

“Dean, I don’t—”

“Look, man, it’s like I said—you don’t have to do things you don’t want to do.”

“Yes. Yes, I do, Dean.” Cas takes a deep breath and remembers that he’s supposed to be keeping Dean calm right now. “When it’s life or death, I’m going to choose life. But I _am_ OK.”

Dean nods and hangs his head again. “Cas, I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“Kicking you out of here. Not telling you about Sam. I-I hate lying to you.”

Cas moves closer to his charge. “You thought Sam’s life was at stake.”

“Yeah. I got played.”

“I thought I was saving heaven. I got played, too.”

“So you’re saying we’re both a couple of dumbasses?”

“I prefer the word ‘trusting.’ Less dumb. Less ass.”

For the first time since Cas got here, Dean smiles. One of those dark, inviting smiles he uses during intercourse. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned ass.

Crowley calls them back in before things get awkward.

 

* * *

 

Crowley shoots Sam in the chest.

“See? Not real. Like I said. I know how possession works, Sam. You’ve seen everything he’s seen, even if you can’t remember. That’s what I need you to do. I need you to remember.”

Sam presses his thumb into his palm and feels nothing.

Not real.

He shuts his eyes so tight he sees stars, but then almost immediately they’re replaced by the walls of a hospital, Dean looking alarmed and helping him up, fighting off Abaddon’s demons, talking to Dean about his own progress and about Cas leaving the bunker, talking to Metatron, and—

“Did I—did I kill Kevin?”

“No. No, Kevin’s alive. You didn’t do anything, Sam. _He_ did. You need to take control.”

A guy shows up behind Crowley. Claims to be an angel named Gadreel.

Sam stomps on his face and tells him to get the fuck out.

It’s a cakewalk compared to what he had to do to Lucifer. 

 

* * *

 

“You feel better?”

“A little, yeah.”

“It’ll take time to fully heal you. We’ll have to do it in stages.”

Cas starts to back off, but Sam grabs his arm.

“Did you know?” he asks sadly.

Cas furrows his brow and shakes his head. “If I had…He doesn’t know how to live without you, Sam.”

“What, so I should be easy on him?”

“We have all done things that we thought were necessary, and most of them ended poorly.”

Sam presses his mouth into a tight line and nods. Cas takes it as his cue to leave. Dean takes his place moments later.

“All right, let me hear it.”

“I’m not you, Dean.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to spell out all your mistakes to you so you feel even worse about yourself. You already know you fucked up. And yeah, I’m pissed. But I’m not doing this.”

Dean shuffles his weight from one foot to the other defensively. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“I just said I’m not doing this.”

“So, what? What the fuck do you want me to say, Sam?”

Sam doesn’t answer.

“All right. Well, I’ll find Gadreel. And I’ll end that son of a bitch. But I’m doing it alone.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, man. Can’t you see? I’m-I’m poison, Sam. People get close to me, they get killed. Or worse. You know, I tell myself that I-I help more people than I hurt. And I tell myself that I-I’m doing it all for the right reasons, and I believe that. But I can’t—I won’t drag anybody through the muck with me. Not anymore.”

“Go. I’m not stopping you.”

Dean drops his head and starts to walk away.

Sam realizes that by not saying anything, he’s doing exactly what Dean wants him to do. He’s affirming that Dean is actually poison and shouldn’t get close to people, and that’s not what Sam wants his brother to believe at all, but he’s _so angry—_

“But don’t go thinking that’s the problem, ‘cause it’s not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just go.” 


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episodes 11-17 of season 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol fuck season 9, this is my show now.
> 
> Warning for Abaddon doing shitty stuff 'cause Abaddon's pure evil please remember that for the love of God [war flashbacks to people getting pissed at me for writing bad characters doing bad things]

“How’s he doing?”

“He should be back to full strength in just a matter of days.”

“And Kevin?”

“He is, um, starting to remember. Still confined to the bed though. Dean—”

“And the Impala? Any leads on her?”

“I believe we need Charlie’s help, but we have no way of contacting her in Oz, so…Dean, I really think—”

“I’ll talk to you later, Cas.”

He hangs up before the angel can lecture him about how he needs to come home and be with everyone and how he’s not poison and they all need him and blah blah blah.

Dean winks and smiles at the bartender, and she smiles back. He finishes his whiskey and taps his glass. This he can do. This…he’s good at.

He’s been driving for a week, not really doing much, not really thinking about much. He’s been in this current town for too long already, but he wants to see if the bartender, Valentina, will come home with him at the end of her shift again tonight. It looks like a promising situation.

His phone rings.

“Krissy?”

“Are you on the run or something?”

“What are you talking—”

“Nobody will give me any straight answers. Just trying to figure out why you’ve been gone for a week.”

Valentina gives him a strange look like she can hear their conversation, but Dean waves her off.

“It’s none of your business,” he whispers into the phone.

“OK, whatever. Just making sure you’re not gone for good or something. I’ve been talking to Cas a lot, and he—”

“Whatever Cas says, don’t listen to him.”

The line goes quiet and then Krissy sounds irritated as she continues, “I was _going_ to say that Cas thinks you’re a moron for leaving and that you’re going to get yourself into a lot of trouble, and he’s worried about you. We’re all worried about you.”

“Did you call to tell me anything useful?”

She sighs heavily. “You’re impossible. Come home soon. Bye.”

She hangs up before he can respond.

“Girl trouble?” Valentina asks a little coldly when he hangs up.

Dean doesn’t connect brain to mouth before he's saying, “Teenagers. They’re impossible.”

 _“You_ have a teenager?”

“Uh—I’m somewhat of a, uh, a foster parent.” Smooth.

Valentina laughs and pours him another glass of whiskey. “I understand now why you’ve been drinking for two days straight.”

There’s a loud sound outside, almost like a crack of thunder but more artificial, and Dean races out with his hand on his gun.

A low buzzing noise assaults his ears and immediately gives him a headache, but he ignores it. It looks like there’s somebody standing by his stolen car and—

He drops to his knees and shouts in pain as something as large as the tip of a sword pierces him in the back and stings his entire body.

 _What the fuck, what the fuck,_ he thinks over and over as he tries and fails to turn his head to see what the actual fuck is going on.

He blacks out.

 

“That was nice, right?”

“What the fu—”

“Relax, you’re fine. I just wanted to talk.”

Dean tries to sit up, but he’s forced back down against the car seat by a hand to his chest.

“We’re still in the parking lot of the bar. Wouldn’t want people getting suspicious if you fight me.”

He closes his eyes and focuses, and when he opens them again he registers what’s going on. Abaddon is straddling his lap and stroking his chest, pretending to hook up with him probably because there were witnesses when she dragged his limp body into the backseat of his car. 

“At least this is roomier than the Impala,” Dean mumbles as he drops his head back against the seat and closes his eyes once again. He’s still in a world of pain.

“So anyway, I just wanted to reiterate that I’m after this perfect body of yours.” She slides a nail down his abdomen and leans down closer to his face. “See, I’m trying to create a regime change in hell, and, well…I think it would be advantageous if I take out the Winchesters in the process, don’t you think? Nothing says ‘vote for me’ like wearing the skin of one of the most lethal humans in the world.”

“Well, I’m flattered, but—”

“But there’s nothing you can do.” She smiles and looks down at Dean’s lips.

Dean swallows hard and tries not to focus on the swelling in his jeans.

She smirks and rolls her hips to deliberately rub her ass against his crotch. “Do you even know why you’re still alive, Dean?”

“Because you want to fuck me before you use me?” Not exactly what he meant to say, but whatever.

Abaddon throws her head back and laughs before continuing to hover right over Dean’s face. “No, sweetheart, that’s what _you_ want.” She kisses him hard, holding his mouth between her thumb and pointer finger. “You’re alive because you’re the best shot I have at killing Crowley. I don’t trust any of my demons to get the job done, and I can’t get near him myself, and rumor has it you’re already on that trajectory anyway, so…”

“So you’re keeping me alive until I kill him? You do realize that makes me want to, you know, _not_ kill him, right?”

She smiles evilly and runs a finger down his face. “Not just a pretty face, are you? It doesn’t matter what I tell you, Dean, because you’re going to do exactly what I want you to do whether you realize it or not.”

“Oh yeah, and how’s—”

“I wasn’t finished.” She leans back hard onto his aching cock and continues, “The sting you felt earlier? The one still humming under your skin, lighting your nerves on fire? That’s just the beginning. My army will make people beg for death, but there will be none.”

“What the hell are you—”

“I’ve told you before—read a Bible, Dean.” She leans down and whispers in his ear, “You’ll wonder why I wasn’t there during the apocalypse, and then you’ll realize…” She moves her hand gently down his side and squeezes his ass so their crotches rub together. “I _am_ the apocalypse.”

She disappears as Dean comes in his pants.

 

Dean’s 200 miles away a day and a half later when Crowley pops up next to him in a much more civilized and less devastatingly terrifying way than Abaddon.

“I said the next time I see you—”

“Dead. Yes, rings a bell. But let’s not dwell on the past, shall we? I’m here to discuss the more pressing matter of destroying Abaddon.”

Of fucking course.

Crowley spews some crap about Dean’s dad killing the demons who had information about something called the First Blade which is apparently the only way to kill a Knight of Hell, so Dean pulls out the journal and finds Abaddon’s name faster than he had hoped.

So he and Crowley are going on a hunt together.

This is the exact opposite of how he felt when he and Cas went on a hunt together all those years ago.

 

* * *

 

There is a slight shift in the wind, a rise in temperature that nobody would notice. The trees lean a little closer to earth, and everything goes a little quiet.

Before he even stops tending to his bees, he knows.

The man standing out front with the king of hell will leave this place with the Mark on his arm.

A Winchester, of course. A man with a needless death wish, an unknown desire to finally become what he already believes he is: a monster.

Cain flies instead of walks out to them. Dean doesn’t react at all.

In fact, he is perfectly steadfast, immoveable. Unfazed. He has very little respect for beings that are supposed to be more powerful than he, and Cain can see why. Dean Winchester is his own species, his very own brand of dangerous.

He’s more than a little curious when he transfers his Mark to this man’s arm. Curious to see what happens, curious to know how he handles it.

Perhaps Dean will make a much more competent Knight of Hell than Cain ever did.

In any case, he does not scream and faint when the Mark is branded onto his arm. First test passed.

“So that’s it?” Dean asks, rubbing his sore arm.

“Do you have someone, Dean?”

“The hell you talking about?”

“Like Colette. Do you have someone who will keep you from becoming a monster?”

Dean shakes his head and looks past Cain. “Already a monster, pal. Too late for that.”

Cain grabs his wrist and forces him to make eye contact. “I’m serious. You’re a killer, but you’re not heartless. Not yet anyway.”

Dean swallows and stares down at where their hands are joined before saying, “Yeah. I’ve got a guy. And my brother.”

“Good. Don’t let Abaddon get to them.” He releases Dean’s arm. “I threw the Blade to the bottom of the deepest ocean. It’s the only way I could keep my promise to Colette. You find the Blade, kill Abaddon, but make me a promise first. When I call you—and I will call—you come find me and use the Blade on me.”

"What? Why?"

“For what I’m about to do.”

Cain presses his hands to Dean and Crowley's chests and sends them outside. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and sees Colette’s smiling face before letting the demons inside his house.

 

* * *

 

Sam is actually surprised it doesn’t happen sooner.

It takes two weeks before he and Dean run into each other on a case and are forced to be civil toward one another.

“We’re splitting again after this wraps up. I can’t be around you, Sam.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. How many break-ups have we been through now? Five? Ten?”

Dean rolls his eyes and walks toward his car. “I’m not fucking around, Sam.”

“You know, maybe we’d make some progress if you would actually talk to—”

Dean slams the door before Sam can finish.

Less than two days later, Dean is passive aggressively asking if they can hunt together again.

“Really? Are you really asking me this right now?” Sam reasons, leaning back against the trunk of the borrowed car.

“Look, the night I…I was fucked up, man. I-I don’t know what I was.”

“And two days ago when you were still pushing me away? What were you then?”

“Sammy, I’m just trying to—”

“Don’t call me Sammy.”

Dean looks so hurt that Sam almost takes it back. Almost.

“Something’s broken here, Dean.”

Dean plants a hand on his hip, scrubs the other one down his face and closes his eyes. “I hate that word.”

“What?”

He gestures his arm out but keeps his eyes closed, his head trained toward the ground. “Broken! I’ve felt broken all my fucking life, I’m sick of being broken.”

Sam lets the words hang.

“I-I’m not saying that it’s not. That it’s not—broken. I…I just think maybe we should get a couple W’s on the board and get past all this.”

“I don’t think so. No. I wish, but…we don’t see things the same way anymore. Back in that church, taking me out of boarding up hell? Or-or tricking me into letting Gadreel possess me? I can’t trust you—not the way I thought I could, not the way I should be able to.”

“OK, look. Whatever happened—we’re family, OK?”

“You say that like it’s some sort of cure-all, like it can change the fact that everything that has gone wrong between us has been _because_ we’re family.”

“So, what? We’re not family now?”

“Christ, Dean, I just want you to apologize! I want you to quit burying yourself in guilt and blame without ever actually trying to _fix_ it! You think if you hate yourself enough and just-just keep hunting and justifying it by saying you’re saving people’s lives, then maybe you can live with yourself, right? And-and you think you can do whatever the fuck you want to take care of me or save me or whatever the fuck you think your purpose in life is when it comes to me, but it’s all bullshit. It’s bullshit, Dean. I mean, when was the last time we even had _fun_ together? When was the last time we acted like we even liked being around each other? Why is it exactly that you can’t live without me?”

At least a minute passes before Dean says very quietly, “How could you—how could you even _think_ that? I-I feel lost without you, man. I don’t even know…I don’t know who I am without you.”

Sam nods. “That’s the problem. And I can’t help you figure that out. But I can’t keep defining you, Dean. I can’t.”

“So…this it?”

“Yeah. This is it.”

It’s a bleak and lonely drive back to the bunker.

 

* * *

 

A week goes by. Then two. Then three.

Then a month.

Dean hasn’t been back to the bunker.

Cas stopped calling two weeks ago.

Sam never called at all.

Krissy’s the only one who ever tells Dean anything, and it’s not even that much. Just a text here and there, saying how Kevin’s doing, wondering when he’s going to come home, telling him about hunts they’ve been on.

She says Cas hasn’t been around as much anymore. Once Kevin got back on his feet, Cas just sort of took off. Now he only pops in every so often to make sure everyone is OK. And to ask if anyone has seen Dean.

He goes on a few cases by himself, hooks up with chicks, nearly drinks himself to death, tries not to think about how much he misses his car and his home and his brother and his friends and his angel.

The nightmares return. Nightmares of losing the people he loves, nightmares of eyes being burned out and angels turning human. One night he has a dream that he and Cas are fucking, and then suddenly Cas turns into Abaddon and she laughs as locusts with stingers fly out of her mouth and sting every inch of Dean’s body. They are worse than the nightmares he had in hell.

But then they start to change.

He starts seeing red behind his eyes, and it floods and floods until he can’t take it anymore and wakes up in a cold sweat with a knife in his hand. He dreams of killing and killing and more killing and there is no relief in his dreams unless he’s killing.

The Mark on his arm throbs constantly. It has a pulse of its own, a controlling life force that Dean’s body is trying and failing to expel.

He becomes frantic to find hunts, frantic to kill monsters, to kill anything. It only makes the Mark angrier.

In a sleepy town in Louisiana, he is woken up in the middle of the night not by the red behind his eyes but by the ringing of his phone.

“Charlie’s back,” is all Sam says into the receiver, his voice neutral.

“And?”

“Says the Wicked Witch is the one who turned the car human. Apparently just wanted to fuck with us.”

"How did Charlie even know—"

"I was able to contact her a couple of weeks ago. It took her a while to figure out a spell to turn the car back, but she thinks she's got it now."

“Why you telling me this?”

“Because it’s _your_ car. And, you know, Charlie’s your friend. She’d like to see you.”

Dean rolls over on his back and rubs his eyes. “You inviting me back home?”

“Never said you weren’t welcome.”

“I’ll be there in a day, maybe two.”

Three hours later, Sam asks him to drive faster. They can’t get the car to be a car again without Dean’s blood. For some reason that makes so much sense to Dean that he doesn’t even think to question it. They need his blood to turn the Impala back into a car. Of course. Why wouldn't they?

He’s barely in the door before they’re yanking him down to the garage where Charlie has set up some elaborate spell work that looks nothing like any witchcraft, demon or angel warding he’s ever seen. This is definitely some otherworldly shit.

“Hey, Baby,” he greets his car, who is sitting cross-legged on the floor, naked save for a blanket wrapped around him.

“I’ve missed you, Dean,” he says in that thick British accent that Dean will take to his grave that he loves.

“Missed you, too. Can’t wait to drive you again.”

“Can’t wait to have you in me again.”

“OK, this is really fucking weird,” Sam cuts in. “Can we do the spell already?”

Dean and Baby smile and wink at each other, and then Dean is cutting his arm and letting his blood pour into a bowl as Charlie adds in some spices, Baby’s blood, and a slew of other unrecognizable things before she lights the whole thing on fire and the room starts to spin.

Like, honest to god spin. They’re all thrown back against the walls like those rides Dean never got the chance to go on at carnivals, and right before Dean thinks he’s going to pass out everything stops and they fall to the floor.

Baby’s in the middle of the room, in her spot, looking shiny and new and definitely not human.

“Oh _fuck_ yeah,” Dean sighs as he climbs in and runs his hands all along the steering wheel.

He opens the door and backs out before Charlie and Sam have even gotten to their feet.

 

* * *

 

Charlie taps her fingers on the table, bites the nails of her other hand.

She doesn’t really like how quiet this bunker is without Dean.

“You sure you don’t want me to go buy you a bed or something? I’d hate for you to have to sleep on an air mattress,” Sam says as he comes into the room and takes a seat across from Charlie.

“Nah, I’ll just ask Dean when he gets back. I don’t think he minds sharing a bed with me. Not...in that way, of course.”

Sam nods and says, “You know, we’ve got like four extra bedrooms in this place. Eventually we’ll have to furnish them all I guess.”

“You don’t sound happy about that. Isn’t it, um, nice having friends? And, like, having friends that are _alive?”_

Sam smiles and looks down at the table. “It’s just weird—the whole settling down thing, it’s not really me.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Sorry, it’s just. I mean. Dean’s the one who nests easily, right? So why is it that he’s been the one gone for a month while you’ve been _here?”_

“I—he’s going through a lot. He thinks it’s his fault that Kevin’s hurt, and he thinks he’s toxic or something.”

“Have you been pushing him away, Sam?”

“Yeah.”

She didn’t expect the answer to come so quickly, so sure. “Well, I mean, why?”

Sam looks up at her with a furrowed brow. “What do you mean ‘why?'”

“I don’t know, bro, it’s like, if you idiots would actually _talk_ about your issues instead of just bottling everything up and lying to each other, then you might actually make some progress. You might move past all this codependent crap that gets all your friends hurt and killed. Which, by the way, I _won’t_ be one of those friends. Count me out on that one.”

“You won’t be, Charlie. I promise.”

“Yeah, you promise because you’re going to talk to Dean, right?”

Sam laughs. “I think you underestimate how hard it is to get Dean to talk.”

“Hey, look, it’s not my fault I’m lovable and amazing and people want to tell me all their problems. Promise me you’ll talk to him, OK? No matter what it takes.”

At that moment, Kevin walks past the door with his walking stick and shouts, “I second that.”

“OK, fine. Yes. I promise.”

Dean gets back an hour later, and Charlie immediately pushes him back into the car and tells him they’re going for a drive.

“Why do you think the witch did it?” Charlie opens with.

Dean shrugs and turns onto a gravel road. “The portal’s in the garage, right? She probably felt life in the car and just decided to roll with it. I mean, didn’t you see any weird shit in Oz? Tin men and scarecrows coming to life and shit?”

“Yeah, actually, that definitely makes sense. Sam said the car changed, too. I didn’t get to see it happen though.”

Dean smiles and strokes the steering wheel just a _little_ too sensually. “I don’t know, dude. Witch probably looked at Baby’s heart and couldn’t make up her mind for how she would manifest herself. She’s too complicated for that.”

“Wow. You’ve legitimately thought about this.”

Dean shrugs again. “So what’s this car ride actually for? I in trouble?”

Charlie thinks about feigning offense before deciding that’s a waste of time. “You’re going to talk to Sam when we get back to the bunker.”

“What?”

“Apologize for the Gadreel thing, say you understand why he can’t trust you—you know, put on your big boy pants and quit being stubborn.”

Dean turns back onto a main road, away from the beautiful countryside. “Did Sam put you up to this?”

“No, I had basically the same conversation with him. Both of you are being stupid.”

“All right, that’s fair.”

“So that’s it? You’ll talk to him?”

“Just—I need some time, all right?”

Charlie crosses her arms and looks out the windshield. “I’m not leaving until you two talk.”

“You know, Charlie, you can’t just come in here and think you can fix all of our problems,” Dean states sternly, like he’s chastising a child.

“Dean, I—”

“Because Sam and me, we’re all we’ve got. I gave up doing the right thing when I sold my soul for him at 29, and I’ll keep doing that until we’re both in the ground. That’s how this goes.”

Charlie doesn’t say anything. She stares out the window and tries not to think about the fact that she can feel Dean’s eyes on her.

Finally, after several minutes, Dean asks, “We done here?”

She turns a cold look on him. “No. You’re a fucking moron, you know that? You think you can’t live without your brother and therefore that justifies all the shitty things you do to keep him by your side. Guess what, Dean? That’s not sustainable! That’s not healthy! Half the time you don’t even get along with him, and the other half you’re not on the same page about what each of you wants. It’s fine—it’s fine if you want to choose Sam over the world. Totally fine. But please, for the love of _god,_ stop choosing _yourself_ over Sam.”

“I’m not—I don’t…yeah, OK.”

“Yeah, OK, what?”

“You’re right. OK? You’re right.”

Charlie drops her head back against the seat and doesn’t say anything else.

 

* * *

 

“Kevin’s mom—she alive?”

“Excuse me?”

“Listen, you get that Blade for me, right? As soon as it’s in my hands, I’ll kill whoever the fuck you want. If you tell me Linda Tran’s alive, and you give me a hint as to where I can find her.”

“And why the bloody hell would I do that?”

“Because you’re the one who tricked me into getting this damn Mark on my arm in the first place. So you owe me.”

Crowley sighs dramatically into the receiver. “Yes, fine. She’s alive. Should I text you coordinates? Google map it for you? Or better yet, have one of my men drop her on your front doorstep?”

“Yeah, sounds great. Thanks, Crowley.”

“Wait, I—”

Dean hangs up on him.

Sam rounds the corner with an annoyed look.

“Is this some sort of distraction? Tracking down Mrs. Tran?”

“I’m tired, Sam. I’m so tired of fighting.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I need a win, man. I’m-I’m fucking drowning, and I just got to do something right, OK? I got to do something. So please. Help me find the poor blind kid’s mom.”

Sam’s face softens, and he nods several times.

Dean lets out a breath he didn’t know he'd been holding.

“So, where do we start?”

 

* * *

 

Audio books. He could learn to read Braille. Have someone read out loud to him?

Using a computer is difficult. He can still type though. Just need somebody he really trusts to proof read.

He likes being around people a lot more often than he used to. Without his sight, there’s really no need to sit around for hours doing research or watching TV or something. Might as well talk to people instead.

He could still go to college.

“Heya, Kevin.”

“Dean? Is that actually you?”

Dean laughs nervously. “Yeah, kid. Sorry I’ve been…you know.”

“You know I’m not mad at you, right? I don’t blame you for what happened, and I don’t think—”

“No, please, Kevin. Let me just take the blame for this one, all right? I got to—I got to say something to you, and I don’t want you to excuse my behavior. I’m sorry. I am so sorry for hurting you like this. I’m sorry that I told you to trust me over and over again, and I kept letting you get screwed over. And…and I’m sorry I-I put Sam ahead of everybody else to the point that it almost killed you. It was…selfish, and I’m sorry.”

The chair creaks as Dean leans back in it. Kevin just nods.

“And, uh, I’m trying to make it up to you, all right? I’ve, um, got a surprise for you.”

Kevin barely has time to ask what the hell’s going on before he hears unmistakably familiar footsteps coming toward him. He meets his mom in the middle without even using his walking stick.

“Mom! Mom, you’re—”

“I’m alive. You really thought Crowley could break _me?”_

“Does this mean…?”

“You’re going home, kiddo,” Dean says from behind him as he pats him on the shoulder.

“I’m…I’m going…home.”

“It’s not going to be easy, OK?” his mom says seriously. “We need to get you ready for college, and your burns haven’t even healed completely yet. Who knows what kind of mess your head might be in. We’re going to the best doctors in Michigan, mark my words.”

Kevin melts back into his mom’s arms and feels her heartbeat against his ear.

He’s going home.

 

* * *

 

It’s been two days since Kevin left, and Sam and Dean still haven’t talked.

Right before he left, he cornered Sam and told him he knows it wasn’t his fault, and he doesn’t hold anything against him. Said he’s going to college, and he’ll call if he needs any help with all the rich kids. Then he told Sam thanks for everything.

Thanks for everything? Everything that _could’ve_ gone wrong _did_ go wrong for Kevin Tran, and it would’ve made a lot more sense for him to punch Sam in the face.

Sam doesn’t want to talk to Dean. He knows he won’t get the same amount of grace that Kevin showed, and he’s scared. He’s scared of being disappointed in his brother.

He’s going to the kitchen just to get a cup of coffee when he finds Dean sitting at the kitchen table. Dean asks him to sit.

“When, uh…I got back from hell—you remember that case with the magicians?”

“The dude who thought he could be immortal? Yeah.”

“You know they, uh, they tricked me during it? They told me to interview some guy named Chief, and I should’ve known better, but I was…Anyway, Chief was some-some dom prostitute something or other. When I figured it out, I kept thinking, ‘why am I not freaking out right now?’ ‘Cause, you know, I was pretty spooked about, uh, all that kind of stuff for a long time after hell, right? But, uh, I almost agreed to it. With Chief, I mean.”

“Dean, is there a reason you’re telling me this?” Sam asks sympathetically.

Dean stares at the cup of coffee nestled between his hands. “It’s safe for me. It’s what I know, and it’s what I’m good at. It was—it was hard to give it up. The worst part of hell was that I-I didn’t always hate it. I tell myself that I did, but I didn’t. I didn’t. And when I have nightmares, it’s because I’m enjoying myself, and I know how awful that is. I don’t want to…just repeat what I’ve always done because it’s safe. Because it’s what I know. Because for some twisted reason I enjoy it.”

“Dean…”

“I’m tired, Sammy. I’m tired of not knowing how to…do anything different than what I already know.”

“You’re scared of being alone.”

Dean blinks deliberately and stares past Sam.

“You feel like protesting, right? Because that’s what you’ve always done. You are certainly willing to do the sacrificing as long as you’re not the one being hurt.” Sam knows he’s being harsh, but he also knows that another thing Dean is used to is harshness, chastisement. This is his comfort zone.

“If the situation was reversed and I was dying, you’d do the same thing.”

“Yeah, I would. Because I know you’d want to live. You’ve always wanted to live, even when everything pointed to the opposite. So yeah, I’d do stupid shit to keep you alive, but I’d do it for _you._ Not for me.”

“Taking care of you, making sure you stay alive…it’s all I’ve ever known.”

“And that is the problem. You think you’re my savior, my brother, the hero. You swoop in, and even when you mess up you think everything you’re doing is worth it because you’ve convinced yourself you’re doing more good than bad. But you’re not. You’re just stuck. Stuck in the same patterns you’ve always been in.”

Dean is so quiet Sam almost misses what he says next. “How do I…stop?”

“You really mean that?”

Dean stares up at him, eyes like saucers, confusion etched in his features.

“I…don’t remember you ever asking me for help. Like, ever.”

“Can we not make this weird?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Uh, You’ve got to…you need to apologize, Dean. And-and it can’t be qualified with you thinking you were doing the right thing or you’d do it the same if you could go back. It just needs to be an apology. Plain and simple.”

Dean nods with a little bit of confidence. “OK. Yeah, OK. Um. Give me some time, all right?”

“Yeah. Of course, Dean.”

Dean stands and turns away from Sam to leave the kitchen.

“Hey, wait.”

He turns back hopefully.

“I’m, uh, I’m proud of you, big brother.”

A small hint of a smile pulls at Dean’s lips before he heads out of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Dean is lying flat on his bed—his thumb hovering over the call button of Cas’ contact—when he gets a call from Crowley.

He heaves a sigh of relief and scrambles to answer it. Anything to stop him from asking _Cas_ for _advice_ on how to grow up and learn to communicate with his brother.

Anything to just get his mind off of everything and get him out of the bunker for a few days.

He hadn’t even been thinking about the First Blade or the Mark or Abaddon at all in the past week or so. Finding Kevin’s mom and dealing with all their domestic familial shit…Dean had nearly forgotten that they have earth-shattering problems as well.

When their trail leads them to a Man of Letters’ house, Dean becomes singularly focused on the Blade. He needs to get his hands on it immediately. He needs to use it. Immediately.

He can feel it. When he enters the weird old-fashioned lair, a spark jolts through his body and he just _knows._ He knows the First Blade is here, and he might go out of his mind seeing red if he doesn’t get his hands on it soon.

Cuthbert Sinclair—Magnus or whatever—is a fucking weirdo.

He’s 90 years old, looks 40, and he sets two vamps on Sam and Dean before introducing himself. Then he sends Sam away, and Dean nearly fucking loses it.

“What the fuck did you just do with my brother?”

“Don’t worry. He’s fine. But I did what any good collector would do—I separated the ordinary from the extraordinary. I had the First Blade. And now I have the Mark of Cain to complete the set.”

“Yeah, well, problem is it’s attached. So how about you loan me the Blade and I take care of business?”

Magnus moves into Dean’s personal space, but Dean doesn’t think to step back. The red is darker—better—when a beating heart is closer. “Dean, I am offering you the moon here—to be part of the greatest collection of all time, to be young forever. Let me teach you my secrets? Hmm? Be my companion. I have to be honest with you, it has gotten lonely here over the years.”

Dean leans in right by his ear and whispers, “When you were saying any of that, did it feel at all creepy? Sorry, pal, but I don’t want your crusty old dick. I’m just going to grab the Blade and go.” He moves away and begins searching the room.

“One little design flaw to the place—no windows, no doors.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll just make my own,” Dean replies as he pulls out his machete.

Magnus says some fancy spell, and the machete becomes unbearably hot in Dean’s grip.

“Welcome to the collection, Dean.”

Magnus casts another spell, and the next thing he knows Dean is waking up tied to a column.

“Why do people keep thinking tying me up is a good intimidation tactic,” Dean mumbles to himself.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?”

Dean flashes a fake, innocent smile and concedes, “Just excited for whatever you’re going to do to me.” He raises his shoulders dramatically. “I love being tied up. Well, I love whatever comes after the being tied up part.”

Magnus grins wickedly. “You know, in traditional storytelling it’s the villains who use their sexuality to intimidate their victims. Not the other way around.”

“Buddy, at no point has this been ‘traditional storytelling.’”

“Then you don’t know what’s coming next?” Magnus asks seriously as he pulls out the Blade and moves to put it in Dean’s hand.

“You don’t want to do that, dude,” Dean warns.

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m—”

Dean breaks free from the constraints and lops the guy’s head off before he can finish his thought.

The First Blade. Oh, how good it feels.

 

* * *

 

“Sam, I’m a little busy—”

“Please, Cas. I know you’re less than a day’s drive away. Just—will you at least call him? Talk to him?”

“You’re serious. About you and he talking?”

Cas can hear Sam shifting his feet on the other line. “Yeah. It was…good. You might want to—you know, he might be willing to talk to you, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cas, Dean really cares about you. I don’t know if he’ll, uh, ever tell you himself. Like, if you don’t force it out of him,” Sam finishes with a nervous laugh.

“I’ll call him.”

“Thanks, Cas. I’m—seriously, I’m grateful. You put up with way more shit from us than is absolutely necessary.”

“Where is this stemming from?”

The nervous laugh again. “What? I can’t give you a compliment?”

“No, it’s just somewhat rare. Nobody is dying, are they?”

“No, man, nobody’s dying. Look, just consider it turning over a new leaf or something, all right?”

“Or something. Yes, I understand. Um. You’re welcome, Sam. For putting up with yours and your brother’s shit all the time.”

Sam laughs out loud this time. “I’ll see you later, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Sam.”

Truth be told, Cas is only a two-hour drive from the bunker. But he hasn’t seen Dean in weeks, and he stopped calling when he realized that Dean only ever asked him for updates on everybody else’s business. He thought Dean was trying to push him away, so he let him.

He doesn’t even call.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean asks when Cas finds him in the library hunched over a stack of books.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Dean.”

“Look, Cas, it’s cool you’re here, but—”

Cas swings a leg over Dean’s chair and saddles himself in his lap. He grabs the back of Dean’s head in both his hands and places a lingering kiss on his forehead.

Dean takes a stuttering breath and slides his arms up Cas’ back.

“I’ve missed you,” Cas whispers directly into Dean’s ear before kissing his temple.

“Cas, I…”

“Where is everyone?”

“On a-a case. People are soulless or something. Sam and Krissy wen—god, _Cas.”_

Cas pulls back from Dean’s neck and stares into his eyes. “Sam said you and he talked.”

Dean tenses and removes his hands from Cas’ back. “Look, man, I’m really busy. Crowley took the First Blade, and I’m trying to track down Abaddon, and—”

“So it’s true then. You have the Mark of Cain.” Of course Cas knew, but he reaches for Dean’s arm anyway, traces the lines of the raised skin reverently.

“It’s, uh, the only way to kill her. She’s got, like, a fucking locust scorpion army thing. Pretty sure she combined them into giant monsters or something.”

“Yes, that makes sense biblically.” Cas tightens his grip on Dean’s shoulders and kisses the side of his mouth. “But I’m not here to talk about Abaddon.”

Dean kisses him back with a groan. “What are you—why are you here then?”

“You told Sam we broke up.”

“What?”

“He kept asking me about it while you were gone. You can imagine my surprise. I did not even realize we were ever in a position to be broken up from.”

“Cas, I—this Abaddon thing, she—”

“You’ve been searching for two days and haven’t found anything. Talk to me.” Cas instinctively rolls his hips, and Dean groans again.

“I lied to Sam about kicking you out. Had to come up with an excuse. That’s it.”

“What is it we’re doing here, Dean?”

“I…What do you mean?”

“It’s been years. Years of _this.”_ Cas kisses him, hard, and then pulls back before Dean’s done. “Why?”

“I-I—we’re good together, you and me.”

“In what way? Physically? I have hardly been the best at bringing you sexual satisfaction.”

“No. No, it’s not—I want you, Cas.”

 _“In what way?”_ he repeats, letting the frustration pour into his words.

Dean stands, pushes Cas back onto the table over the books, and runs his hand down his chest gently. “In every way. I want you all to myself, and I want you when I wake up in the morning and when I go to sleep at night. I want you here, with me, all the time. I want your Chrysler-building size, two phoenix heads, eight wings, 13 eyes, tree-like form crammed into what used to be Jimmy Novak—I want it all, right here.” Dean leans over and presses his mouth to Cas' shirt just below his belly button before continuing, “I-I want you, Cas.”

Cas sits up and runs his fingers up and down Dean’s arms reassuringly. “You have me, Dean.”

 

* * *

 

Dean grabs Cas’ wrist and feels his pulse. He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the angel’s.

Cas kisses him on the forehead again, longer this time. Then he wraps his arms around Dean’s back and pulls him closer between his legs before burying his face in Dean’s neck.

Dean returns the hug and cries quietly into Cas’ shoulder. “Stay.”

“I’m here, Dean. I’ll stay the night.”

“And-and then?”

“You can return to your search for Abaddon, and I can return to helping the angels. We’ll find our way back to one another.”

“So we’re…together now?” Dean curses the break in his voice.

Cas strokes Dean’s cheek and smiles. “I am somewhat familiar with traditional relationships, but I fear ours will not be very traditional.”

Dean sighs and pushes up against Cas like a frustrated cat. “We’ll figure it out. For now, just—let’s be exclusive, all right?”

“Exclusive. Yes. I think I would like that.”

“Hey,” Dean says with a squeeze to Cas’ hips. “Um, are you still…I mean, your grace. Did it-did it make your junk useless again?”

Cas looks up at the ceiling in that long-suffering way he does. “It’s not _useless._ I simply don’t think about sex. But with you—yes, I could ‘get it up’ now easier than before. I understand better now.”

“So for me, huh? Exclusively?”

“If you’re asking me to make love to you, I would gladly do so right—”

Dean locks their lips together and lifts Cas off the table. Cas catches on quick, wrapping his legs and arms around Dean tightly and moaning into his mouth. They’re only halfway to Dean’s bedroom when Dean feels Cas’ erection somewhere against his abdomen. He pushes his angel back into a wall and holds him up while thrusting uselessly.

“We’re not going to make it very long like this,” Cas growls before biting Dean’s earlobe.

Dean takes the hint and keeps walking, slamming into a couple of tables and doorframes as they go. Finally, Dean’s dropping Cas onto his bed and they’re frantic as they unbutton shirts, peel layers off, throw shoes and belts and pants across the room.

Once they’re both naked, they take a pause and stare into each other’s eyes. With anybody else, Dean would be freaking out right now and running away.

But this is Cas. They’re together.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, and that’s all it takes.

Dean crawls up onto the bed and grabs the lube from the nightstand. He tosses it at Cas and is unsurprised at how quickly Cas moves to get it on his fingers.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Cas says sincerely, which embarrassingly makes Dean’s dick twitch with interest.

“You won’t hurt me. C’mon, Cas.”

He moves fast after that, propping Dean face forward onto his lap and reaching behind him with eager fingers. Dean is vaguely aware that Cas is working his fingers in and out the way Dean did to him when he was human. He bites his lip and grips Cas’ shoulders, moves up and down on his lap to get the ball rolling.

In no time at all Cas is three-fingers deep and biting into Dean’s shoulder almost hard enough to draw blood. Unsure of how capable Cas is of higher thought processes at the moment, Dean takes him in his hand and works him into a good sweat and lifts up and sinks down before Cas’ fingers are even all the way out of him.

“Oh, _fuck,”_ Dean breathes, and then it’s silence.

It feels like all the time in the world passes before they begin moving, like they’re stuck in a moment so perfect that neither of them wants to break it. They kiss languidly when Cas starts moving, and Dean is surprised at his angel’s tact. The first movements are always weird, and kissing is a good distraction. But then Cas is bucking up and burying himself deeper, and Dean grinds down and focuses all of his attention on what it feels like to _finally_ have Cas inside of him.

It’s several minutes before either of them say anything, both just looking at the other’s face in awe until Cas breaks into a warm smile.

“What?” Dean asks, feeling the smile creep onto his own face.

“You’re beautiful.”

Dean slows his rhythm and slides his arms tighter around Cas’ neck. “You mean that?”

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t know what to do with that, so he kisses Cas and keeps kissing him even when Cas snakes a hand between them and works Dean through his orgasm.

It’s a minute or two later before Cas follows, and Dean stills and gasps at the sensation of come filling him up. It’s been a long time.

Their foreheads knock together and they breathe in sync.

“Do people typically touch foreheads as often as you and I have in the past few hours?” Cas asks.

Dean laughs and drops his head to Cas’ shoulder. “You fucking asshole, ruined the moment.”

“I could use sleep now.”

“Borrowed grace not working right?” Dean asks as he drops feather-light kisses on Cas’ shoulder.

“It could be better.”

“Well, let me get some food at least before we sleep. Or I could leave you here—”

“No. I could—I’ll eat.”

Dean laughs once again, and then it’s several more minutes of lazily making out and exploring each other’s naked bodies before they break apart and throw on robes to head back to the kitchen.

Since Dean got the Mark, it’s the longest he’s gone without seeing red behind his eyes. And it’s the first time since he killed Magnus that he hasn’t heard his own heartbeat in his ears.

He dreads the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Stephanie](http://demilarrydaley.tumblr.com/) for the artwork!!


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of season 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If everybody seems out of character it's because I'm trying to develop them instead of keeping them in an endless loop of lies and mistrust and miscommunication like the show does?????? I'm sorry?????

“Dean? You home?”

Sam drops his duffel bag in the war room and heads down the hall. He’s never really consciously thought about it before now, but he probably should wait for a “yeah, come on in” after he knocks on his brother’s door instead of immediately opening it.

Lucky for him, Dean and Cas are asleep and—well, mostly—covered by the bedspread. Their clothes are strewn all over the place, the lamp is on the floor next to the nightstand, and there’s not one but two empty bottles of lube at the foot of the bed.

Sam huffs a laugh and shakes his head as he leaves the room. He pauses right before shutting the door behind him and feels a rush of affection at how Dean nuzzles his face into Cas' chest. They look peaceful. Happy.

He’s eating a bowl of cereal when Dean pads into the room rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Sam elects to ignore the huge wince followed by a groan when he sits.

“Get the soulless thing worked out?” Dean asks before taking a drink of Sam’s coffee.

“Yeah. Uh, looks like Abaddon’s trying to build some kind of army of souls.”

“Oh shit, yeah. That makes sense. She’s probably putting them into her locust hybrids.”

“What?”

“She’s got, like, giant locust things, dude. With stingers. They sound more like people than bugs, so it makes sense that she would want souls for them.”

“Um, OK. You get any leads on where she might be?”

Dean sits back in his chair and shifts uncomfortably. “Nah,” he says with a shit-eating grin. “Got kind of busy.”

“Yeah, I noticed. When did Cas show up?”

“How did you—”

“Not very subtle, Dean.”

“Last night. Or afternoon. Whatever. I don’t even know what day it is, dude.”

“So you guys worked some things out then?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.” Dean leans forward again, deliberately this time. “Hey, uh, Sammy—I told you he and I broke up. We didn’t. We were never really _together._ I lied, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied about everything. But, uh…you know, I’m-I’m grateful that you’ve forced me to work through our shit. Between me and you, I mean. It’s made me rethink a couple of things, and hell, it moved me and Cas into territory I never even dreamed of. So, uh, thanks. For everything.”

Sam smiles genuinely at his brother for the first time in what feels like years, and that rush of affection returns more blatantly this time. Before he can say anything, Cas enters the room in a pair of Dean’s sweats, his hand absentmindedly scratching his bare stomach.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Dean mumbles as he leans his head upside down and reaches his arms back for Cas.

Cas doesn’t even look confused as he walks up behind the chair and into Dean’s arms and gives him an upside down kiss. “Good morning, Dean. And Sam.”

“Glad you came, Cas.”

Dean laughs and pats Cas’ ass. “I’m glad he did, too.”

“Oh c’mon, dude,” Sam protests.

“It’s a natural act, Sammy.”

Cas extricates himself from Dean’s backwards hold and pulls up a chair close enough for Dean to sling his arm over the back of it. “I have to leave soon.”

Dean _legitimately_ whines and buries his face in Cas’ neck.

“OK, seriously, what the fuck did I just walk into?” Sam asks.

“Dean and I are in a relationship.”

“Officially,” Dean adds with a wink and a finger gun.

“Shit, that’s great, guys. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Cas turns to Dean then and says, “I really do have to go.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

They share a way-too-intimate kiss for Sam to be sitting in the room, and then Cas gets up and kisses Dean’s forehead before leaving.

“Um,” Sam says.

“Yep.”

 

* * *

 

Cas wonders if there’s any truth in what Naomi said.

Maybe he has rebelled and fallen in love with human after human and been reprogrammed since the day he was brought into existence. He wonders if any of them could compare to Dean.

Of course falling in love is a process that began the moment he saw Dean’s soul in hell, and it probably will not end until his memory is wiped again.

But now. Now that he’s allowing himself to think about it, he can’t _stop_. The taste of Dean’s tongue lingers on his, the taste of his come, the smell of his sweat, the gentle glide of his fingers, the softness of his skin. Everything, all of it. It envelops Cas until he becomes drunk on it.

Sam and Dean don’t need to know that there are angels looking to Cas to be a leader. They know the old leader, Bartholomew, is dead, but that’s it.

An injured angel named Hannah pleads with him so earnestly that he seriously considers it.

But then there’s Dean again, clouding his judgment. Clouding everything.

It isn’t until he’s standing in front of Metatron that he comes back down to earth.

“Hannah and her sisters, I set all that up. Told Gadreel, ‘slaughter all those who will not join my army, but let one live. One. To tell the tale.’”

“Is it true? Can you bring angels back to heaven?”

“Sorry. No spoilers. And you keep missing my point. You’re supposed to lead the angels.”

“I am not a leader, Metatron.”

“Apparently. But any good writer can develop a character into whatever they need them to be.”

“You did this to make me a hero?”

Metatron laughs, and the sound grates on Cas’ nerves. “Ah, that’s priceless. Um, no. You are not the hero in this masterpiece. You are the villain. I’m the hero.” He takes a step toward Cas and continues, “Do you know why I didn’t kill you after I stole your grace? I like you. Truly. Among all of God’s little wind-up toys, you were the only one with any spunk. I left you human because I was hoping you would live happily ever after, but you screwed that up, too. And now…you leave me no choice. I mean, if you want to get back on board, fine. But you’re going to have to follow my script.”

Cas smiles and tries to stare down at the floor before Metatron notices.

“Castiel. What was that?” he chastises.

“You think I screwed up a ‘happily ever after’ just because I stole some grace. I am well on my way to getting my happily ever after, Metatron.”

“What? With the _Winchesters?_ You think just because you and Dean kissed and made up, suddenly everything is sunshine and rainbows? Don’t make me laugh.”

“What exactly is it that you want from me?”

“Lead the dumb, disenfranchised, rebellious angels against me, Castiel. They will follow you. And they’ll all die, but I’m going to save a nice, warm seat up top for you. You will be saved.”

“I don’t want that.”

Metatron rolls his eyes and tosses his hands up. “You are _hopelessly_ in love, you know that? Need I remind you that your grace is burning out? It will burn you out. I will give you an endless supply of rechargeable batteries. Deal?”

A woman rushes in and says that Gadreel has been captured by the Winchesters.

The next thing Cas knows, he’s being shoved into the trunk of a car, tied hand and foot.

 

* * *

 

“Dean! Dean, whoa, whoa, hey. What happened?”

“He wouldn’t talk. He wanted to die, and I was going to kill him. But then I stopped ‘cause I know we need him to talk.”

Sam lifts his brother to his feet and keeps an arm of support around his waist. “Dean, listen. Metatron has Cas. He’s offering up a trade.”

Dean grips the front of Sam’s shirt and takes several deep breaths. “We can’t trust him. He’s going to kill Cas. Sam, we have to—”

“Dean, I need you to calm down, all right? Cas is going to be fine. C’mon, we have to get Gadreel.”

They manage to get to the car and drive toward the meeting spot Metatron chose, but Dean doesn’t ever really calm down. Sam attempts to talk to him, but it’s like he’s talking to a wall.

Maybe having Dean and Cas work out their shit wasn’t such a great idea after all.

“He’s late,” Sam states once they’ve set up the ring of holy fire.

“Oh, don’t be so picky, Sam,” Metatron responds as he appears right in the middle of the ring. “I was just waiting for you to finish setting up your little trap for me. Uh, am I hitting my mark? Well, come on. Let’s go. I’m waiting.”

Sam knows it’s a trap, but he lights the holy fire anyway. Metatron blows it right out.

“Where the hell is Cas?” Dean shouts as Metatron wipes out the angel warding on the trunk of the Impala and gets Gadreel out.

“God, you’re as pathetic as I expected,” Metatron says. “A deal is a deal. Have your precious little angel back.”

A car pulls up, and Metatron all but throws Cas out of the trunk. Dean rushes to him and unties his hands and feet before holding his face between his hands and asking if he’s all right.

“What’s going on, Cas?” Dean asks after Metatron leaves.

“Metatron is trying to play God.”

“Play God? Cas, he erased angel warding. He blew out holy fire. He _is_ God. How the hell are we supposed to stop this guy?”

“You two don’t need to worry about it. I am going to…figure something out. Your main priority should be killing Abaddon.”

“You need a ride somewhere?”

Sam considers commenting on how chill Dean suddenly just became, but he decides against it.

“The nearest hotel would be nice. I fear the bunker will be too distracting.”

“Agreed,” Dean says with a wink.

Sam groans.

“Quit complaining—you still got shotgun, Sammy.”

Twenty minutes later, Sam is staring down at his hands while his brother and Cas kiss each other goodbye right outside his door.

He supposes it’s better than all the times the same thing’s happened with random chicks Dean meets on cases.

 

* * *

 

“Jody called while you guys were gone,” Krissy announces as soon as Sam and Dean step through the door.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Dean asks.

“It wasn’t urgent. Figured you guys would be home soon anyway. She’s after some vampires in Nebraska, said she could use back up. Can I go?”

“Yeah, you and Sam can head out.”

“Dean. Let me take the Abaddon thing for a couple of days. You and Krissy go.”

Dean thinks about protesting, but then he realizes that if he goes on this case, he will most likely get to kill some vampires. Killing sounds really good right about now.

“Yeah, OK,” he concedes, picking his duffel bag back up.

“That’s it? That easy?”

“What? You in the mood to fight?”

“No, it’s just—”

“Oh my _god,_ you guys are so fucking annoying. Dean, come on,” Krissy interrupts with a yank on Dean’s arm.

Once they’re in the car, Krissy asks, “What’s the deal with you and Sam? Why are you guys so angsty all the fucking time?”

“Since when do you say ‘fucking’ every other sentence?”

“Quit changing the _fucking_ subject, Dad.”

“Sam and I are fine. I’m just—I’m jittery ‘cause of this thing on my arm.” Dean takes one hand off the steering wheel to slap his right forearm.

“Yeah, but you guys have problems aside from that. I mean, I was here when you weren’t. Sam was…not the same without you.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve been through hell together. We’re not really the…being apart type.”

“Codependent is the word you’re looking for.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“It’s kind of weird that you guys are brothers.”

“Um.”

“What with the incestuous undertones and—”

“I will leave you on the side of the road.”

They fall silent, and Dean messes with the radio until he finds a station he likes.

“I wish I was as close to somebody as you and your brother are.”

“No, you don’t. I mean, yeah. But me and Sammy do a lot of things wrong. If we weren’t so…'codependent,' we’d probably get along a lot better. And, you know, we’ve almost fucked over the whole world before because of it.”

“You’ve also saved the world because of it.”

Dean squints at Krissy, but she just shrugs innocently. “I’m burning every copy of those damn books.”

When they get to Nebraska, Jody and Krissy hit it off immediately and Dean feels like a third wheel at a slumber party. He’s not jealous. It’s fine.

It gets even worse when they meet Alex. Dean is so useless on this case that he’s pretty sure nobody would notice if he just left. That is until they send him on an errand to go find one of the vampires that took Alex, and Dean learns that she was actually bait to lure humans into the nest.

Of course Krissy and Jody don’t answer their fucking phones when Dean tries to tell them to get the hell away from Alex.

“Why the hell weren’t you answering your phone? Listen to me, Alex is dangerous,” Dean says when Jody finally calls him.

“She’s also gone. We have to go to the nest.”

“No! Jody, that’s a bad—damn it.”

Jody and Krissy are already captured when he gets to the nest. Alex is a vampire.

He tears the place up. Jody kills one of the things, but Dean gets the rest.

The adrenaline pumps through his veins and his senses light on fire. He can feel the bead of sweat running down the center of his back, the piece of gravel caught in the heel of his sock, the hair that got pushed in the wrong direction on his arm. He feels it all tenfold.

And when Krissy barely taps his shoulder with her fingertips, he nearly lops her head off, too.

“Dean! It’s OK. You’re OK,” she says, and it’s the fear in her voice that brings him back down.

He drops the blade. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m OK. So-sorry.”

“Anybody mind filling me in on what’s going on?” Jody asks.

“After we cure Alex,” Dean responds.

The girl hesitantly agrees to stay with Jody, and Dean is sure Krissy will offer to stay as well. But then she doesn’t, and for some reason that comforts Dean.

“So. What mess have you gotten into this time?” Jody asks while Krissy waits in the Impala.

Dean pulls his shirtsleeve up and explains, “It’s called the Mark of Cain. You know, like when God cast Cain out for killing his brother and made him wander the earth or whatever.”

“Huh. Correct me if I’m wrong, but Sam’s not dead, right?”

“It’s symbolic. Cain himself gave it to me.”

“And it makes you bloodthirsty.”

“How did you—”

“Been a cop for a long time. Just—keep killing monsters, OK? And maybe start drinking tea and sitting out in the sun or something. Don’t do anything stupid and end up with innocent blood on your hands.”

“Already plenty of innocent blood on my hands.”

Jody sighs and slaps Dean on the shoulder. “You and your brother, responsible for the whole world’s wellbeing. Now get the hell out of here, I got a new daughter to take care of. Oh, and tell Krissy to come visit anytime. I heard she’s working on a bike that’ll need a good test drive soon.”

“Jody, are you sure you don’t…you know, want me to ask Krissy if she’d like to stay? Here with you, I mean.”

“No, sweetheart, I can tell she belongs with you. You guys have a lot to learn from each other.”

“Yeah. All right, well, um, don’t be a stranger. Keep me updated on the kid.”

Jody pulls Dean down for a hug and a kiss to his forehead (which absolutely does not make him blush), and then he’s back on the road.

Krissy plays the role of Sam Winchester and asks him at least a dozen times about the Mark on their car ride back.

Maybe he should’ve left her in Nebraska after all.

 

“Ooh, Dean, I’m loving this new aura you’re sporting.”

Dean nearly falls backwards in his lawn chair before pulling his gun out uselessly. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Abaddon sits in the grass next to him and leans back on her elbows. “I could ask you the same thing. I didn’t catch you for the sunbathing type.”

“Where’s your locust army?”

“They’re busy. So, did you get your hands on the First Blade yet?”

“How—”

“You’re smarter when you’re not talking. I know Crowley has it. And I know you’re going to kill me before ever considering killing him. So let’s quit this foreplay, all right?”

Dean squirms in his seat. He doesn’t like that he’s several feet higher off the ground than this monster. “So what you’re saying is that you’re going to see me coming?”

Abaddon slides a hand under the armrest and onto Dean’s thigh as she says, “Oh you’ll be coming all right.”

He instinctively snatches her hand and forces it away. “My body’s useless to you now that I have the Mark, isn’t it? So quit trying to fuck me.”

“Wow, _touchy._ Not as eager as usual. If I didn’t know any better, I would say somebody’s in _love.”_

“God, you’re worse than Metatron,” Dean mumbles.

“What was that?”

“I said go fuck yourself.”

“Happily. Anyway, I just wanted to check in. Can’t _wait_ to feel the knife you shove into my abdomen.”

She disappears as fast as she came, and Dean unclenches his hands and drops his head back. Hey, at least he only got half-hard this time.

He calls Cas immediately.

“How’s the Metatron search party going?”

“It’s…interesting. I have somewhat of an army. They’ve started calling me commander.”

“Oh, really? _Commander._ I bet you like it, don’t you?”

Cas clears his throat, and then there’s the sound of him shuffling through people and closing a door behind him into what Dean presumes is a private room. “I’d like it better between your lips as your body clenches around my cock.”

Dean literally does tip backwards in his chair this time. He composes himself enough to say, “And I would, too, commander. It’d be the only word in my vocabulary as you fill me up and pound into me with all you’ve got. And let me tell you, you ain’t small. I can feel every wavelength of that celestial intent working its way through me, commander.”

“I wish I could taste you. I wish I could lick your cock and drink your seed. I’m not even built with a capacity for taste, but I can taste you. Dean Winchester, you defy all logic. And I could live out my days drunk on you.”

“Shit, Cas.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

Dean laughs and stops rubbing himself through his jeans. “No, you’re perfect. I’m blushing instead of coming, but what else is new? You need anything from us?”

“Actually, there is an angel here that could use some…gentle persuasion.”

“I’m in.”

“Dean, the Mark—”

“Is calm when I’m in violent situations. So let’s keep it calm, right?”

“If that’s what you think is best.”

“I do. Commander.”

 

* * *

 

Sam doesn’t say anything when Dean needlessly tortures and almost kills an angel.

He doesn’t say anything when it takes him a solid 60 seconds to get Dean’s attention after Dean completely ignores his ringing phone.

He doesn’t say anything when Dean insists on holding the First Blade.

He doesn’t even say anything when he hears Crowley say the word “Poughkeepsie” not once but twice through the speaker of Dean’s phone. And he doesn’t say anything when Dean pretends like that didn’t happen.

Just like he didn’t say anything three days ago when Krissy told him all about how overboard Dean went killing that nest of vamps in Nebraska.

He lets Dean kill Abaddon alone. Part of him wonders if Dean is just trying to protect him, but that can’t be it.

What Dean’s really doing is trying to hide how much the Mark is fucking him up. He’s trying to put on a good face for Sam.

It’s not working.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, Dean. Lovely of you to join us. Please, go ahead and kill me,” Abaddon greets as Dean walks into the hotel room.

There are three creatures hovering near the ceiling, each about the size of a dog. They are locusts, but with four wings like those of an angel and a tail like a scorpion. Their stingers look like swords, and the low humming filling the room makes Dean feel hypnotized.

“What are they doing here?”

“Please, Dean, last time I saw you, you asked the opposite question. Can’t a girl have an army come and go as she pleases?”

“You know I’m here to kill you. Those things going to kill me after the deed is done?”

“No, I’m afraid not. They’re here to eat my body when we’re done.”

“Seriously?”

“God, no. That’s disgusting.” Abaddon flicks her wrist and sends Crowley across the room and into the wall. “All right, now let’s see what you got.”

Despite what she said, one of the damn locust monsters comes at Dean anyway and drives a stinger into his back. It’s different than last time, though. The Mark of Cain aims to protect Dean at all costs, and so it begins to throb and pump adrenaline through Dean’s body that turns the pain into something like power. Like strength. He turns and cuts the stinger off with the First Blade. The creature dissipates into thin air. Not corporeal then.

Crowley regains his footing just in time for Abaddon to fly the stinger out of Dean's hand and into Crowley's palm. He screams in pain but manages to yank it out and heal himself. Abaddon knocks him unconscious with a snap of her fingers.

When the second and third locusts come at Dean with more force than the first, he grabs them by their stingers and forces them into Abaddon’s stomach. She laughs as they disappear.

Then she finally acts, tossing Dean like she did with Crowley. He manages to hang onto the Blade despite the mind control Abaddon has on him.

He recognizes it immediately. The room goes fuzzy and the humming begins to sound like music. Brief pictures flash before his eyes. Running downstairs on a Saturday morning because his mom made pancakes. Holding Sam at the hospital hours after he was born. Playing board games with Sam after school while their dad was on a hunt. Staying at Bobby’s house and watching crap TV. It’s all there, and it’s all jumbled and layered and it’s too much. It’s too much happiness, too much joy to possibly be Dean Winchester’s sorry life.

The next thing he sees is Abaddon’s eyes staring into his, a wicked grin on her face.

“Do it,” she whispers.

As he's pulling the Blade back, scorpions—dozens of them—pour out of her mouth while she coughs. He stumbles back, shaking the damn things off and trying not to collapse under the immediate pain of being stung over and over again.

The mind control happens again, except this time Dean is in hell and he's screaming and nobody hears him. He's running out of a burning house yelling for his mom, his brother in his arms. He's pouring drinks for him and Sam because it's the apocalypse and they're both going to die in the morning. He's pulling a tattered trench coat out of a river.

He falls to his knees, and Abaddon grips his ear so hard he thinks she's going to rip it off. He reaches blindly beside him and finds what he wants before Abaddon can even speak. 

He shoves the scorpion down her throat and fumbles with the Blade while she chokes.

He sinks the Blade into her belly. She winks before falling to the floor.

 

* * *

 

“Commander.”

Dean nearly chokes on air. The angel eyes him suspiciously before returning her attention to Cas.

“Sam, Dean, this is Hannah,” Cas says with a gesture to the girl.

“The Winchesters—I’ve heard so much about you.”

“What can I say? Cas is a fan,” Dean answers.

Cas raises an eyebrow at him.

Dean chokes again.

“Sir, this morning, Josiah wasn’t at roll call,” Hannah states.

“Uh, roll call? You hold roll call?”

“They like to hear me say their names.”

“I don’t blame them.”

Sam punches Dean in the arm.

Another angel comes up to show them a video of a guy blowing himself up and claiming, “I do this for Castiel.”

“What the hell was that?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know. I didn’t—I would never ask an angel to sacrifice himself to kill innocents. I’m going to be sick.”

This is the point where Dean knows, logically, that he should comfort his…Cas, but he’s too angry.

“Cas, why would an angel blow up a Colonel Scoop’s in your name?” Sam asks.

Hannah answers, “That’s not what he was doing. That was an angel—Esther. She’s one of Metatron’s.”

“So, this was some kind of hit?”

“I don’t know.”

“Stop saying you don’t know.”

Cas looks up at Dean like _he’s_ the one being betrayed. “You can’t think I would allow something like this.”

“Cas, I know you try to be a good guy, OK? I do. You try. But what you’ve got here—this is a fucking cult.”

“Dean.”

“And the last time you had this kind of juice, you did kill humans and angels, and you did nothing but lie to me and Sam about it the whole fucking time!”

Sam drags Dean and Cas into Cas’ office and says, “Will you stow the baggage, Dean?”

They’re quiet for several moments until Cas says, “We are supposed to be in a partnership, and you don’t trust me.”

“Oh, what? So this is about you and me now? You’re going to play that card?”

“Of course I’m going to play that card, Dean. If I don’t have your trust, then I don’t want your heart.”

Dean’s jaw drops, but then he straightens his shoulders and leaves the room.

Sam and Cas can do this case without him.

 

* * *

 

“Sam. You don’t—you don’t think I ordered those angels to kill themselves, do you?”

“No, Cas. Of course not. Listen, Dean’s just…he’s been really on edge lately. Amped up because of the Mark or some shit. Try not to take it too personally, you know?”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

Sam shifts in his seat and explains, “Well, for starters—um, you’ve got kind of a weird thing going on back there with the angels. The way they stare at you, it’s like you’re a rock star or something. I honestly think Dean is more concerned than he is mistrusting you. It’s your army he doesn’t trust, dude.”

“They’ve put their faith in me.”

“And maybe that’s the problem. I mean, people have been doing messed up shit in the name of faith—in the name of God—since forever.”

“Well, I’m not trying to play God. I’m just trying to…” Cas pauses, like he’s considering, “get my people home.”

Sam drops the conversation after that, and he silently prays that the Mark or Dean’s own stubbornness or whatever else doesn’t ruin their very new relationship. He doesn’t know if Cas hears the prayer.

Their trail leads them to an abandoned warehouse that Cas claims feels “heavenly.”

“Sam, we found it,” Cas says once they’ve gotten inside.

“Found what?”

“The door to heaven.”

“I can hear it. It’s calling to me, Sam.”

“Cas, wait!”

There’s a moment after Cas opens the door in which Sam thinks he’s never going to see his friend again. It was all too easy—it had to be a trap.

Except when the light dims, they’re both standing in a room filled with tacky party decorations and posters of…Dean.

Sam spots the card sitting on the table almost immediately. “‘Welcome to your own personal heaven, Castiel. Good luck finding the real one.’”

“This is ridiculous. I am an angel. I don’t have a personal heaven.”

“I think you’re…missing the point, Cas.” Sam looks around the room and holds back a laugh before his eyes land on Cas.

He’s squatted in front of a severely burned angel.

“Supposed to be here—gate—he told me that I should come to him. Metatron told me that I could go home. I just wanted to go home,” the angel states.

Cas reaches his fingers out to the angel’s forehead. “Here. Let me—”

“No! I would rather die than owe my life to you, Castiel. You play at being noble. You play at being one of us. But I look into your eyes…and I don’t see an angel staring back at me.”

The guy dies, and Cas hangs his head.

Sam walks out to the car and waits.

They’re about halfway back to Cas’ command center before Sam speaks. “How do you see yourself, Cas?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“Like, do you see yourself as an angel? Do you still…consider your true form your real self? Or, like, when you look in the mirror do you see Jimmy Novak?”

Cas takes a long time before he answers. “I only think about my true form when I’m in my true form. My personality—who I-I am—that is something intangible. I thought it was my grace, but...I don’t have my grace, and I am still me. I look in the mirror and I see me. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“Do you miss your grace?”

“Of course. But for so long it defined me. Now I realize…”

“What? You can tell me.”

“I believe I have a soul.”

Cas’ phone rings.

Dean apparently killed an angel he was interrogating. Some woman named Flagstaff.

Cas floors it and yells into the phone not to do anything with Dean until he gets back.

They find Dean tied to a chair in a back room, and Cas orders all of the other angels to leave.

“You brought out the First Blade?”

“They told you about that, huh?”

“Dean, we told you not to—”

“You can’t stop me, Sammy.”

“Excuse me?”

Dean throws his head back and laughs. “You think you’ve got any control over me, you’ve got another thing coming. It’ll be best if you stand down, brother.”

“You mind explaining to me what the fuck that’s supposed to mean? You’re killing angels now, even if we need them to talk? Tell me, how’s that helpful?”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Hannah opens the door and announces that Metatron is on the phone.

Dozens of angels are gathered in the main room to listen in.

Once again, Sam can sense that it’s a trap. He wishes he could hang up on Metatron himself.

Instead, he has to watch as Metatron twists his words to turn every one of Cas’ angels against him.

“You’ve had a taste of free will. I got to ask you—do you like it? I mean, the way you’ve flocked off to follow Castiel tells me that you need to follow someone. It’s in your DNA. But Cas? He’s not what you think he is. He sends angels out to die. Hell, he’s fucking that crazy, trigger-happy, angel-killing Winchester. Oh, excuse my French—he’s _making love_ to that crazy, trigger-happy, angel-killing Winchester. Have you told them about your stolen grace, Castiel? How it’s fading away, and when it burns out, so will you? So…no, then. I’m not the best, but I’m the best you’ve got. You want to stay with Castiel, fine, but he’s playing you. Because at the end of the day, the only thing he cares about is himself and the Hardy boys there. You’ve got a choice to make. Make the right one.”

“He’s lying,” Cas says desperately after the line goes dead.

“About the grace?” Hannah asks.

“It’s complicated.”

“So he wasn’t lying.”

“He was about-about everything else. He—you believe me, don’t you?”

“I want to believe you. But I—we need proof.”

“Name it.”

Hannah turns to Dean as if on autopilot. She says flatly, “Punish him.”

“What?” Dean cuts in.

“He murdered Flagstaff. He broke our rules.”

“Y’all can all go to hell.”

“I won’t hurt Dean,” Cas says with unyielding conviction.

“You gave us order, Castiel, and we gave you our trust,” Hannah pleads. “Don’t lose it over one man.”

“I will not kill Dean to prove a point. I will not lead beings who misunderstand the power of meaningful relationships. Go. Follow Metatron. Call me when he fucks you over.”

Sam suppresses a smile.

 

* * *

 

As soon as they get back to the bunker, Dean grabs Cas by the wrist and pulls him into his bedroom.

“So, batteries,” Dean starts as he wraps Cas up in his arms and holds his back against his chest on the bed.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. How long you got?”

“Long enough to destroy Metatron, I hope. But without an army…”

“Well, hey, you still got us.”

“Dean, those bombers. You don’t think I—”

“Honey, you just gave up an entire army for me. I-I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.” He kisses the back of Cas’ neck a few times.

“I’m sorry I got angry.”

“We’re idiots, you know that?”

“Dean. Do you really think we three will be enough?”

“We always have been.”

Sam shouts from the main room, and Dean and Cas untangle themselves and run out to find Gadreel standing right there in front of them.

He tries to explain himself. He tries to make them trust him.

Dean is no longer seeing red. He is seeing Kevin Tran’s eyes being burned out of his skull.

He lunges at Gadreel and everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

When Dean comes back to himself, he’s standing alone in the dungeon. He’s locked inside.

He doesn’t remember Sam and Cas putting him in here. He doesn’t remember if he killed Gadreel or not. He assumes he didn’t, considering he would feel better right now if he had.

He doesn’t remember anything.

He starts seeing double before he runs to the corner of the room and pukes his guts out.

His literal guts. It’s not food or bile that comes out of him—it’s…it looks like some of the shit he and Sam have seen in medical examiner’s rooms. Except it’s in a puddle of blood. How the fuck is he even alive...

He passes out.

He wakes up with a start, the red behind his eyes clearer and brighter than ever before. It could’ve been seconds or hours, he has no idea. He hurls again. This time it hurts his stomach so bad he falls to the ground and clutches his abdomen as if that can hold him together.

He does the only thing he knows to do and summons Crowley.

“What the hell’s happening to me, you son of a bitch?”

“Liquor before beer? Bad taco? How should I know?”

“I can’t turn it off! Ever since I killed Abaddon—it’s like this whole…other thing. I get this high, and I-I need to kill. I mean, I really, _really_ need to kill. And if I don’t—”

“You yak your guts out. It’s the Mark,” Crowley explains.

“Meaning?”

“It wants you to kill. The more you kill, the better you feel. The less you kill, the less better you feel.”

Dean slumps against the wall. “How much less better?”

“One would imagine the least less better.”

“So dead? Cain has the Mark. He didn’t die.”

“Cain was a demon. Your body’s not strong enough to handle the Mark’s power.”

“And why the fuck didn’t you tell me this before I agreed to get the damn thing!”

“I maybe should’ve mentioned it. Details. What is it that you really want, Dean?”

“I want Metatron. And you’re going to get me out of here so I can get—”

Dean vomits again.

“But before we do that, please tell me you’ve got some demons on death row.”

Dean looks up just in time to see the smirk on Crowley’s face before he flies them out of there. After they retrieve the Blade, they go to a back alley in the middle of nowhere. Crowley calls up four of his demons, and Dean kills them all in less than three minutes.

He feels incredible.

They find out less than an hour later that Metatron’s gone viral by apparently bringing a woman back to life after she was hit by a car. Dean drives to the woman’s house and unsurprisingly finds Sam standing out front.

“Sam, whatever intervention you think this is, trust me, it ain’t. I’m not going to explain myself to you.”

“Yeah, I got that. I just wanted to let you know that while you two have been playing odd couple, your boyfriend and Gadreel have been risking their asses to help you win this fight. Krissy's over there, too, watching the portal.”

“Is Cas OK?”

“That’s not the fucking point, Dean.”

“Like hell it’s not the point! Tell me if Cas is OK!”

“I don’t know, Dean. Haven’t heard from him since he took the door to heaven. Now do you want to track down Metatron or not?”

Dean steels himself for a fight. “I’m going to take my shot, for better or worse.”

“I know.”

“No matter the consequences.”

“I know. But if this is it, we’re going to do it together.” Sam looks over Dean’s shoulder and shouts, “Crowley, you can go. We don’t need you anymore.”

 

* * *

 

The drive over to the homeless encampment is silent.

Something is different in Dean just since they locked him in the dungeon. He was wired then, all jittery movements and shifty eyes. Now he’s focused, solid, calm. Sam doesn’t want to know what happened with Crowley.

“Listen, Sammy. Um, about the Mark. It’s not—I’m not…”

“I know. Let’s not find anything else to fight about, all right?”

The last thing Sam sees is Dean’s fist coming toward his face.

He’s furious when he wakes up. He races over to the encampment and pulls a gun on the people, demanding to know where Metatron is.

The world seems to fall colorless when Sam gets inside the warehouse.

That’s the only way he knows how to describe it.

The emptiness, the hopelessness—Dean looks over at him as Metatron pulls the angel blade out of his chest.

 

* * *

 

Cas smashes the tablet on the floor and feels the power being released, dissipating into nothing. He sits back in Metatron’s chair and waits.

“Well played, Castiel. Obviously you and Gadreel managed to turn a few dead-enders against me.”

“Gadreel is dead.”

“Ah. So Gadreel bites the dust. And the angel tablet—arguably the most powerful instrument in the history of the universe—is in pieces, and for what? Oh, that’s right—to save Dean Winchester. That was your goal, right? I mean, you draped yourself in the flag of heaven, but ultimately it was all about saving one human, right? Well, guess what? Your lover’s dead, too.”

Cas’ heart does…something he’s never felt before. It hurts worse than anything he’s ever experienced. He hardly notices when Metatron handcuffs him.

“You will never get away with this.”

“Get away with what? You told a silly story to a group of less-than-believers. I’ll clean up your mess in an hour.”

“You give our brothers and sisters too little credit. They care, Metatron. They care about one another, and they care about people. They-they love, and they care, and they know when they are being cheated.”

“And then? They will do nothing because they are frightened little sheep following my crook wherever it leads. And where I’m taking them, back to our rightful place atop this mountain of human shame and excrement—when that happens, trust me, they’re not going to care how they got there! They are not going to care because they are heartless, worthless creatures, Castiel. You? Well, you were God’s big exception. The angel with a heart. Just to see what might happen. And all you’ve ever done with it is give it away to useless humans. Bravo. You never quite could pull it together, Castiel. While you sit here, your grace burning away, tears filling your eyes because your precious Dean is gone, your reputation long extinguished…no curiosity. You didn’t read enough. You never learned how to tell a good story.”

“But you did.”

Cas is released from his handcuffs and towers over Metatron as the other angels secure his imprisonment. He doesn’t say anything further until they are alone save for Hannah, and Metatron is locked behind bars.

“You listen to me, Metatron. I have killed many angels, and I have never— _never—_ enjoyed it. So hear me when I say that the moment I do get the chance to sink a blade into your gut, I will revel in it. It will rival the joy, the exhilaration I feel when my cock is buried in Dean Winchester’s ass. But until then, Metatron, you will rot in this cell. Until I get my grace back. Enjoy your last few moments of life while they last.”

Hannah’s mouth is gaping open as Cas pushes past her.

 

* * *

 

“Sam. Wait. Hold up, hold up.”

Sam stops and lowers Dean to a chair. He kneels in front of it and keeps both hands on Dean’s hips to steady him.

“There’s something I got to say to you.”

“What?”

Dean wobbles and smiles, blood staining his teeth. He coughs a little before finally he says, “I’m proud of us. And-and Sam? I’m sorry. For-for everything. I didn’t always…treat you like I love you, but I do, OK? I love you, little brother. More than anything.”

Dean falls forward.

Sam carries him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [is Wincest trash]


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sort of in between seasons 9 and 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a whole bunch of warnings for this chapter, but instead I'll just say that there's a LOT of sex with purposely unpopular pairings and Dean's a HUGE dick. Also, fuck season 10.
> 
> I copied demon!Dean from a tumblr post I can't find. Somebody made it before season 10 aired, and they said they wanted Dean in suits being sharp and terrifying and whatnot. If anyone knows what post I'm talking about, please link me so I can credit the owner properly.

It’s raining outside.

Dean runs upstairs as fast as his feet will carry him and grabs the umbrella out of his closet.

“Oh, thank you, sweetie. I would’ve totally forgotten. My little hero.”

He reaches his arms up and is rewarded with a big hug and a kiss to his forehead.

“You ready to go, angel?”

“I hold the umbrella.”

“I thought it was for me?”

“It is! I hold it for you.”

Mary reaches down again and scoops her son up into her arms. Dean adjusts his legs around her pregnant belly and pops the umbrella open so that it covers them both. They step out into the rain, and neither of them gets wet.

“You’re such a sweet angel, Dean. What would I do without you?”

Dean kisses his mother’s cheek and holds the umbrella steady for the entire walk to the store.

_My little hero._

_“Listen to me, Dean Winchester, what you’re feeling right now is not death.”_

Dean loosens his grip on the umbrella and darts his eyes around frantically.

“Honey, what’s the matter?”

_“It’s life. A new kind of life.”_

He drops the umbrella and screams.

_“Open your eyes, Dean.”_

He shuts his eyes tight and boxes his ears.

_“See what I see. Feel what I feel.”_

He drops from his mother’s arms. She starts to disappear. He is moving—or, no, the world is moving around him. It’s too fast. Like he’s being sucked through a tube.

_“Let’s go take a howl at that moon.”_

The world stops moving. Dean is standing in the middle of a room. All of the walls are black. There is no exit. The umbrella is in the corner, broken.

He opens his eyes and grabs Crowley by the throat.

“I was in hell for 40 years and didn’t turn into this. What the fuck did you do to me?”

“I—didn’t—do—anything. The—Mark—”

Dean looks down at his arm and squeezes Crowley’s neck harder. “Tell me, why shouldn’t I kill you right now?”

“I can—make you—a god—among men. Sit at my—right hand.”

Dean lifts Crowley off his feet and eyes him curiously. “What if I want to sit on the throne?”

“Then that’s a conversation you should have with me, sweetheart.”

Dean throws Crowley against the wall and directs his attention toward the voice on the other side of the room.

He should’ve recognized the humming.

“Didn’t I kill you already?”

Abaddon leans back against the wall and crosses her arms. “Didn’t you just die yourself?”

 

* * *

 

He wasn’t going to make a deal with Crowley.

He promised himself years ago that he wouldn’t trade his life for his brother’s. Dean would resent him for it. That was the main reason.

But maybe Crowley could do _something_. Anything.

He doesn’t show up.

Sam sits in the dungeon for two hours waiting.

He has to do something. He has to think of something. This can’t be like last time. He can’t just do nothing. Can’t be like last time. He can’t become useless. Can’t be like last time.

When he returns to Dean’s room, it’s empty. There’s a note on the bed.

_Sammy, let me go._

It’s Dean’s handwriting.

He calls every number he knows Dean might answer.

_You’ve reached Dean Winchester, professional monster hunter. If you have this number, then—_

_This is my other, other cellphone—_

_Not currently impersonating any officers at this line—_

_If you’re calling for John, I hate to break it to you, but—_

_If you’re calling this number and you’re not Sam or Cas, then how the hell—_

“Sam? What’s going on?”

“Hey, Kevin, how are you doing?”

“You know, still blind. But I’m OK. Are you OK?”

Sam laughs into the phone. “I, uh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve bothered you. Uh, I’ll just—”

“No, Sam! Please! Tell me what’s wrong.”

He takes a deep breath. “Did you notice Dean acting differently after he got the Mark of Cain?”

“You mean that thing on Dean’s arm? I mean, it’s hard to tell. He disappeared for so long and then came back with it and everything was different anyway. Why, did something happen?”

“He, um—we were fighting Metatron, and-and he was stabbed, and I-I carried his body…But now he’s…he’s just gone. He’s gone, and I don’t know—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. It’s OK. Um, are you saying Dean is…is Dean dead?” He trails off at the end.

“He was. He was, and now he’s lost. He disappeared.”

“That makes no sense.”

“He left a note. Unless someone’s playing an elaborate joke, he’s alive.”

“OK. But—you saw him die? So…Dean came back to life.”

Sam hangs his head and squeezes his eyes shut. He needs to figure this out. He _needs_ to. He’s going insane.

“Sam, what do you know about the Mark?”

“It came from Cain.”

“What do you know about Cain?”

“He killed his brother. God cast him out. He’s…a knight of hell. A-a demon.”

“Sam.”

“No. No, I know. I-I know. Th-thanks for your help, man.”

“Wait! Sam! Do you want me to—”

He hangs up.

He’s not sure how long he sits and stares at the wall.

A door opens and closes, there are footsteps on the stairs and shuffling around in the war room. Sam doesn’t really register what that means until Krissy is standing right in front of him looking confused.

“Um, Sam?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s…going on?”

“Where have you been?”

“I was on a case with Jody. Where’s Dean?”

“Gone.”

“You mind giving me more det—”

“He’s gone! OK? He’s gone. You should—” Sam stops and tries to collect himself before he says something that he doesn’t mean.

“I’m going to take my bike and go back to Jody and Alex’s, OK? Um, that’s what you want, right? To figure this out on your own?”

Sam nods.

“All right. You have my number.” Krissy starts to leave again, but she turns back around at the door. “Don’t, um, do anything stupid, all right? Whatever’s going on, just—remember you’re your own person, right? He doesn’t, uh, define you. Yeah.”

It’s not until days later when Sam is sober and clear-headed that he realizes nobody’s ever said that to him before.

 

* * *

 

“So, this throne. Would I get my own flock of locust monsters?”

“You can have whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“Quit calling me sweetheart.”

Abaddon straightens in her chair and raises an eyebrow.

Dean continues his bored stare.

“I have something better than a locust army, Dean.”

Dean crosses his legs and motions for her to get on with it already. He doesn’t like waiting.

Abaddon snaps her fingers, and suddenly there’s a blade in her hand. It’s black and almost as small as a pocketknife. There is no hilt but rope wrapped around the base to hold.

“The actual First Blade,” Dean states.

Abaddon looks at the Blade with fondness and shakes it. “This little fucker would’ve killed your brother had he touched it.”

“How long have you and Crowley been working together?”

She pulls the Blade down and looks back at Dean, clearly annoyed with the change of subject. “We are not ‘working together.’ I am the queen of hell, and he manages all of the busy work.”

Dean laughs to himself.

“What?”

“You think you’re tough shit.” He gestures to the room. “Got a fancy office with leather chairs and naked lady paintings on the walls. Your vessel’s intimidating as hell, and you got everybody wrapped around your finger.” Dean steeples his fingertips together. “Now, me? Seventy-two hours ago I was choking up blood and telling my kid brother I loved him. I’ve got the face of a goddamn Disney princess and the body of a stay-at-home dad. Not to mention I spent the majority of my life scared shitless of things like you and me. And yet—” he pulls his right hand out to the side and examines his fingernails “—absolutely nothing you are saying is impressing me.”

“You undervalue yourself, Dean,” Crowley cuts in from where he just appeared by Abaddon’s chair. “You were intimidating before, but now you’re downright terrifying.”

“Not to mention that you’re toying with us,” Abaddon continues with an edge in her tone. “You don’t actually care about any of this. You don’t care about a throne or an army or the Blade or anything at all. Why are you wasting my time?”

Dean glides across the room, or maybe he flies. Doesn’t matter. He leans over Abaddon’s chair with his hands on the rests, and he gets closer and closer until finally she leans back. Just an inch. He smiles. “I’ll take the Blade, thanks.” He holds out his hand.

Abaddon returns the smile and places the small thing in Dean’s palm.

Something—power, maybe—tangibly washes over him, and he shuts his eyes. They’re black when he opens them. “I’m going to go make a list.”

“A list of what?” Crowley asks as Dean heads for the door.

He turns his head back halfway and says, “Of all the people who pissed me off in my life.” He waves the Blade, mimicking Abaddon's earlier action, and disappears.

 

* * *

 

“What in the bloody _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

Dean cocks an eyebrow and pushes a hand into Crowley’s chest. “Ex _cuse me?”_

Crowley pushes forward again, crowding Dean against the wall. “I’m not afraid of you, Dean. Now tell me why exactly you’re sneaking into your _own home_ with the Blade in your hand.”

Dean presses the Blade to Crowley’s throat and angles his head so they’re eye level. He flashes black. “Ask nicely.”

“No.”

If Dean were human, he probably wouldn’t notice the flick of Crowley’s eyes to his lips. Of course, if he were human, he wouldn’t be able to see the six extra eyes across Crowley’s forehead either.

Blade still against Crowley’s neck, Dean leans down and forces their mouths together. Crowley makes a pathetic mewling noise and wraps both hands around the back of Dean’s head.

Dean pulls back with a laugh. “You’re a joke.”

Crowley stares at Dean’s lips, slack-jawed. “I-I—we—” He tries to reach for Dean’s mouth again, but the Blade stops him.

Dean gets right up close to his ear and whispers, “A _joke.”_

 

* * *

 

When Cas shows up at the bunker, he looks about 10 years older than the ageless Jimmy Novak.

“Cas…”

“I’m fine, Sam.”

Sam pulls a chair out for him and notes how loose his clothes are, how the veins in his hands are more pronounced than ever. “No, you’re not.”

“Well, you’re not either. So let’s just pretend like everything is OK and get to work,” he answers bitterly.

“I miss him, too, man.”

“I don’t—let’s not talk about it. About him.”

“I think I have a lead. In North Dakota. You sure you’re healthy enough to…?”

“I am _fine.”_

They drive in silence for hours until Sam can’t take it anymore.

“Cas, you’re heartbroken.”

Cas doesn’t respond.

“I just want you to know that’s what you’re feeling. In case you…didn’t know.”

No response.

“I miss him, too,” he repeats.

Several minutes, maybe even an hour, later, Cas mumbles, “We didn’t even get a proper goodbye. Or break-up.”

 

* * *

 

Dean braces his arm against the wall and the other under Abaddon’s ass. He cants his hips up and keeps sucking bruises into her neck. He’s been wondering for days what the skin of her neck tastes like with its green tint and bumpy scales. Turns out it’s less dragon, more alligator.

She digs her high heels into his lower back and her claws into his scalp as she screams. “Has that cock of yours always been this size, or did you upgrade with the black eyes?”

He pulls away from her neck and gives her a skeptical look before angling himself differently and forcing a soft moan out of her. He yanks on one of her tails for good measure.

“Shame you bottom. Waste of talent.”

Dean bites his tongue. He refuses to say anything while his dick is buried in Abaddon’s cunt. He’s also resisting the urge to climax first and drop her on the floor in retaliation for all the times she’s left him sexually frustrated.

But he’s a goddamn gentleman in the bedroom.

Besides, this is the first time he can have wall sex without his arms giving out.

When Abaddon gets close, she starts clenching and sliding up and down the wall in a steady rhythm, her three eyes closed and her face serene. It’s the least threatening she’s ever looked.

She moves her hands from Dean’s scalp to his shoulder blades and scratches down to his elbows, leaving a trail of blood behind. Then she bites his collarbone and reaches a hand behind him. It doesn’t even faze him when she sticks a pointy claw and a dry finger up his ass. She adds two more without even waiting, and then they’re both coming and pushing against the wall to hold each other up.

She kisses him brutally, biting his lower lip as she pulls away.

He pulls out of her and barely gives her time to land on her feet as he drops her. He kisses her on the cheek and whispers, “Thanks, sweetheart,” before disappearing out of her office.

She gets back at him later by sending crude pictures of herself when he’s in public.

 

* * *

 

He has to sleep now.

Admittedly it was one of his favorite things about being human, even if most days he didn’t have a bed to rest on.

But now.

His weakening grace is not just making him feel sick in what he thinks is the human definition of the word. It is seemingly disintegrating every cell in his body very slowly each day. It is almost as if he is a machine that is rusting at an accelerated rate.

Sleeping is the only time when he doesn’t hurt physically.

Of course, immediately after Metatron said Dean was dead, that’s when the nightmares started.

It was just images at first—flashes of Dean being shot or stabbed or beheaded or just plain dead on the ground. He would wake up unable to breathe for several seconds.

Then it was…worse. He would dream of kissing Dean, of sleeping next to him, of holding his hand and sharing shy smiles. And then Dean would die. Cas was the one who killed him sometimes, their hands still laced together as he shoved the knife in.

One night Dean kisses Cas, Cas stabs him, and when Dean pulls back his eyes are black. Now, he almost exclusively dreams about Dean being a demon. Dean with a skull for a face. Dean with a dozen eyes, with several horns, with a distorted face, with nails as teeth.

One night Cas sits bolt upright and chokes on air before a voice says from the end of his bed, “What were _you_ dreaming about?”

He’s still dreaming. That’s the only explanation. “Who are you? What did you do with Dean?”

The man shakes his head but still doesn’t turn around. “Honey, I’m disappointed in you.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He turns slowly. “Go ahead. Try and stop me.”

Cas shuts his eyes and whispers to himself, “It’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream.”

“Not a dream, honey,” _that_ voice whispers right in his ear before stroking a three-pronged nail down his cheek.

“You’re not him.”

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

“No.”

Impossibly long fingers grip his chin and turn his face enough for Cas to feel the puff of breath when the thing speaks. “I’m not leaving until you look at me.”

He opens one eye. Then the other. Black eyes. Just two of them. Three-pronged tongue, like his nails. Four cuts on the left cheek, eternally bleeding. A patch of decay on the right cheek near the jaw, taking the form of small holes and peeled skin, like it was scratched away by the pads of someone's fingers. Part of the bottom lip missing at the left corner, top of the left ear chewed away. Two horns on the forehead, short and split into two points each. They attach through…not veins, but roots that raise the skin around the temples and eyebrows.

 _“Dean_ ,” Cas breathes.

A smile. Perfect teeth. “Heya, Cas.”

Cas feels calm for the first time since he started having nightmares.

It’s not a dream.

 

* * *

 

Dean sits by himself at the bench by the pool tables. He leans back and keeps his elbows up on the back of the seat, his legs crossed. He swirls his drink in time with the circling of his ankle.

Crowley comes over eventually and stands next to him, looking out over the crowd as if he sees what Dean sees. He doesn’t say anything.

“Two o’clock,” Dean says.

“The flannel brothers over there? I suppose I could’ve guessed that.”

Not 30 seconds later, one of the aforementioned flannel brothers approaches Dean and asks, “Do you mind if I sit?”

Dean gestures at the place next to him without looking at the guy.

After the guy tentatively sits, he says, “So, uh, what do you do for a living? Your suit looks—”

“I bottom. This guy to my right is a vers. You and your brothers are obviously top, bottom, still trying to figure out if he likes men or not. Incest is gross and icky, but as long as you’re focused on the other people involved and avoid gazing at your brothers’ junk, you’ll overlook it. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

Dean can feel both sets of eyes on him, but he keeps looking forward and takes a sip of his drink.

Finally, the dude whispers, “You…bottom?”

Dean smiles and stands. He adjusts his suit, hands his glass to Crowley, and heads out to his car.

It’s going to be a fun night.

 

* * *

 

“You’re…sure.”

“It was him. It was—I wasn’t dreaming.”

“What do you mean _holes?”_

“Like—I could see inside his mouth, his gums, teeth—but not all of the skin was pulled away. Like somebody had dug into individual—”

“Stop. What will _I_ see?”

“Black eyes. Sometimes.”

“How do you know it was…you know, him?”

“I know. I just know.”

 

* * *

 

Dean is on his hands and knees, a cock in his mouth and another in his ass.

Crowley is beneath him, one arm wrapped over his back and the other jerking him off way too damn slowly. The third triplet is sucking Crowley’s cock. Maybe. Who knows.

Dean rolls his hips and sucks hard, and every single person moans in unison. He raises a hand to make a “faster” motion, and suddenly his ass is being pounded and his mouth is being fucked. He is stuck in the middle rocking back and forth in a disjointed pattern and he would laugh if his mouth wasn’t occupied. He reaches back and snaps at Crowley, who eventually gets the hint and replaces his hand with his mouth.

He feels come fill him up as the guy hits his prostate one last time, and then not long after, he’s swallowing. When the guy pulls out of his mouth, he groans in relief and comes down Crowley’s throat.

In a quick motion he stands and cracks his back. He snaps his fingers to clean himself up.

“Gentlemen. Thank you for your hospitality. We should shoot pool sometime,” he states as he pulls his suit back on.

Everyone lies in a heap on the floor and turns to glare at him.

He winks and leaves.

 

* * *

 

He’s drunk when Abaddon approaches him in the bar and pushes him into the bathroom.

She shoves him against the wall and runs a claw down his chest. “Are you and Crowley done howling at the goddamn moon yet?”

“Sweetheart, that’s none—”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

Dean grabs her by the wrists and shifts their positions so she’s the one against the wall. She has to stand on her tiptoes to stay upright. “Let’s try that again. Sweetheart, that’s none of your business. Don’t you have more important things to do?”

Abaddon snarls and puffs smoke out of her nostrils. Dean holds back a laugh. “We are both knights of hell. Don’t you wonder what kind of power we could—”

“I don’t care.” He kisses her gently on the forehead, avoiding her extra eye. “Get over me.”

She breaks one of her hands free and reaches underneath him to grab him by the balls once before disappearing.

That still hurts just as much as it did when he was human.

 

* * *

 

Cas leaves in the middle of the night after week four, and then it’s too easy.

It’s too easy to find Dean.

Almost like Dean wants Sam to find him.

Sam falls for the bait anyway.

The moment he walks into the abandoned sanctuary his eyes fall on the silhouette of his brother lying back on the choir steps at the front. His legs are crossed and his foot is bouncing in circles. He’s wearing a suit that actually fits him for once. It looks expensive.

“Sammy. Nice of you to join me.”

“Shut up.”

“Right to it, then? OK.”

Suddenly Dean is right in front of him, hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. His eyes are green.

“You’re coming home with me.”

“How’s that?”

“Why’d you call me here, Dean?”

“What? A guy can’t lure his brother into a trap to get rid of him once and for all?”

Sam takes a step forward. “If you were going to kill me, you would’ve done it already.”

“Really? ‘Cause right now, I’m doing all I can not to rip your throat out with my teeth.”

“That sounds fun. Why don’t you go ahead and try?” Sam mocks.

Dean’s eyes narrow and flit black, and then he’s on him in a second. He wraps his hand around Sam’s neck and bares his teeth. He pauses, and Sam knows he’s just waiting for a reaction before he continues.

Sam winks at him.

Dean sinks his teeth into his neck.

Sam raises his right hand to the side and makes a fist.

Dean falls to the floor choking, clutching at his own neck.

“Not so fun anymore, is it?”

“You—have you—demon blood?”

Sam winks again. His eye turns black.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forget canon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But Maddison, you can't make everyone queer. But reader, the show makes everyone straight.
> 
> BUT MADDISON, you can't keep alive all the characters the show kills and kill all the characters the show keeps alive!!!! But fuck canon, reader!!! FUck it!!!
> 
> Also lol warning for wincestuous undertones...as if that hasn't been happening already in the previous 29 chapters. And hella unreliable narration but, like, don't worry. I've got it under control.

_Sam, I know what you’re thinking._

_What are you talking about?_

_I’m not telling you not to do it. In fact, I think it’s…it might be our best option. But I can’t watch you do it. I won’t watch you do it._

_Yeah. Yeah, I don’t want you to._

_I know. And that’s why I’m leaving. Do whatever you must. Call me when he’s home._

_Thanks, Cas._

_And, Sam? You’re a good man._

Cas rolls over in bed and clutches his side. He knows he’s going crazy, but he swears certain emotions trigger responses in different parts of his body. The conversation with Sam makes his ribs ache. Missing Dean pulls a sharp pain under his left armpit. Imagining what Dean looked like as a demon makes his feet tingle from his ankles to his toes. Feeling lost and alone and unable to help himself adds 20 pounds of lead to his head.

He would return to heaven if he could. He would like to know what’s been going on since Metatron fell and if all of the souls who were lost when Metatron shut the gates have been found again. But he has no access. He left pretty much the moment Metatron was behind bars, and he hasn’t spoken to an angel since.

That’s probably why he hugs Hannah when she shows up on his doorstep. She doesn’t quite know how to reciprocate, but he doesn’t care. He’s ecstatic to see his friend.

She tells him that there's no new leader in heaven and they have set up a self-governing system. Cas lights up at the thought, remembering a similar time during the gap between when the Old and New Testaments were written. It was incredibly peaceful.

“How have you been? With the…grace. And the-the Winchester.”

Cas smiles softly. “You can say his name, you know. I am not upset with you for asking me to kill him. It’s not the first time.”

Hannah looks more confused than ever, but Cas waves her off.

“I am waiting for Sam to tell me when he finds Dean. As for my grace, I’m going to die. I can feel it killing me.”

“You don’t sound too upset about that.”

He shrugs. “I have very little purpose anymore. My identity has been stripped. Dying does not seem so bad.”

Hannah tentatively reaches out and runs her fingers from his shoulder to his hand. She takes his palm in her own. “I need your help, Castiel.”

 

* * *

 

Sam hasn’t prayed to anybody but Cas in a long time, but he prays before he does it. He prays to God himself.

“I don’t know if you’re listening or if you even give a damn, but I’m doing this. And I want to come out of it unscathed. I don’t want to get addicted, and I-I don’t want to turn into something I’m not. So, please? Let it slide this once, and let me never have to do this again? Or, uh, show me another way. If there’s any other way…”

He takes a crossroads demon. Doesn't even say anything before slitting his throat and draining him into a bucket. It tastes as good as he remembers.

 

* * *

 

Castiel is so tired. He is so tired of killing his brothers and sisters.

Part of him wants to let the rogue angels stay and learn from humans and adapt and fall in love and experience human emotion as he has. But a bigger part of him agrees with Hannah that they need to be in heaven.

The first time angels were required to take human vessels, there was a list of rules written up. It was all very serious business because God loved humans and angels loved God. They didn’t want to do anything that would upset him.

But as time went by, the rules were forgotten. The only one that really remained was that permission had to be granted before an angel could use a human’s body. All of the laws about autonomy and not overstaying your welcome and treating your vessel’s body with the same level of respect that you treat your own form were just...gone _._

Cas sometimes thinks about it when he looks at himself in the mirror. It is still a strange sort of disassociation to see a face that was not his for billions of years.

He still feels like he’s dishonoring Jimmy’s memory, disrespecting his agency.

Even after he visited Jimmy’s heaven years ago when he recognized that he was alone in his vessel.

_I am sorry it ended like this._

_You don’t have to apologize to me, Castiel. I was honored to serve._

_But you—_

_Learned how to be selfless. Learned to recognize that there are bigger things going on in the world than my small life. Learned to see everything in a completely different way._

_You died because of me._

_Let me ask you something, Cas. Have you ever checked on my wife and daughter?_

_I…have not._

_See, and I don’t expect you to. I understand my insignificance._

Cas understands why Hannah wants the angels to return to heaven. To return to their true forms.

_For the first time in thousands of years, I have choices. And with each choice, I begin to discover who I really am._

Daniel’s words ring in Castiel’s head, making the top of his spine feel weary. Daniel is finding his identity through the choices he gets to make on earth. Cas feels as if he has done the opposite.

 

* * *

 

They sit in silence for most of the car ride home.

Dean is cuffed and there’s a bullet in his thigh, but Sam still lets him sit in the front seat. He’s not going to treat his brother like a caged animal, even if that’s what he is.

“How much did you have to drink?” Dean asks with his eyes on the road, like he’s asking about the goddamn weather.

“Two gallons in as many days.”

Dean answers darkly in an impossibly low octave, “I bet you savored every drop, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I did. It’s all I’ve craved since I took my first sip.” He can feel Dean’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look over.

“Can you hear my blood pumping through my veins? Do you want to taste me?”

“Yeah.” He meant to say “creepy” or “gross” or “stop” or literally anything besides “yeah.”

Dean throws his head back against the seat and laughs. He doesn’t speak again for the rest of the drive.

Sam taps his fingers against the steering wheel and tries to distract himself from the overwhelming scent of Dean’s blood.

Maybe his brother will let him have just one taste…

 

* * *

“Why do you feel obligated to them?”

“They might be rough around the edges, but Sam and Dean Winchester are the best men I’ve ever known. I would—never mind.”

“What?”

“I was going to say something you already know, that I would choose them over most things.”

Hannah doesn’t say anything for a while.

Castiel is not accustomed to awkward silences, but this one is definitely awkward.

Thirty miles later, she asks, “What is it like to be in love?”

Cas chokes back his initial reaction, which is to lie. “Do you remember the builders, the ones who built their houses on [rock and sand?” ](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+7%3A24-27&version=NKJV)

“Of course.”

“Being in love is like building your house on rock only to have it turn to sand when the storm comes. And vice versa.”

“I…understand. That sounds horrible.”

“It’s worth it.”

Hannah tentatively touches Cas’ shoulder. “He will return to you, Castiel.”

 

* * *

 

Dean drifts in and out of consciousness. He keeps dreaming about his mom. It’s confusing.

He hasn’t felt this disoriented since he woke up a demon, and frankly, he’s not enjoying it. Actually, he’d really like to kill the people responsible for this.

There’s his brother, who has this weird red mist around him that is both enticing and terrifying. Dean knows it’s because of all the demon blood he’s been drinking, but he’s definitely not about to _tell_ Sam that his _“aura”_ is all spooky.

Then there’s Krissy, who was apparently called in last minute to provide the clean blood to shoot into Dean’s system. Dean laughed harder than he has in a long time when he overhead Sam on the phone arguing with Krissy over the fact that she absolutely could not bring Jody and Alex with her, too, and if she says a word to Jody about what’s going on he’ll blah blah blah blah.

Cas and the chick who tried to murder him show up last. It’s after Dean’s second dose of blood, and he feels drunk and loopy and he wishes Cas would get close enough so he can kiss him. He passes out before he gets the whole request out to Cas.

When he wakes up again, Sam’s the only one in the room.

“Your blood doesn’t smell so good anymore,” Sam states from where he’s sitting on a table in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Do you feel different?”

Sam shakes his head and shrugs. “Powerful, maybe. Enough energy to run a couple of marathons. No cravings since you lost your smell.”

Dean smiles. “We’re a couple of fucked up sons of bitches, you know that?”

Sam drops his head and laughs. “Do you even know what we’re doing to you?”

“Curing me of being a demon, right? Isn’t that how this shit works?”

“No, we’re actually, um, making you human. Like, along with being a demon. You’ll be both.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“We don’t know how to get rid of the Mark yet. The only way Cain lived with it is because his body—as a demon—was strong enough to stand its power. You’re not strong enough as a human. You’d puke your guts out in two days flat.”

Dean pushes his heels into the floor and sits up in his chair. “But I’m too big of a dick as a _full_ demon?”

“Oh, you’ll still be full demon. Just—full human as well.”

“Why the _hell_ do you think this is going to work?”

“I already know it’s working,” Sam confirms as he stands.

“Yeah, and how’s that?”

“You haven’t mentioned wanting to kill me in the past six hours.”

He leaves without waiting for Dean to come up with a response.

 

* * *

 

Sam insists that Cas go in alone to see Dean before this process is over, but Cas keeps refusing until Hannah joins the conversation and practically begs him to go talk to Dean.

“Why does it matter to you?” Cas asks more harshly than he intends.

Hannah immediately drops her hand from Cas’ arm, which makes him feel worse. “Because you are my friend. And he means a lot to you.” Her voice loses its gentleness as she continues, “And I didn’t drive halfway across the country with you to stand around and do nothing.”

“Fair point.”

It’s a long walk to the dungeon.

When Cas opens the door, Dean jumps in his seat and blinks several times.

“Did I wake you?” Cas asks shyly as he shuts the door behind him.

Dean nods and smiles with his mouth closed.

Cas notices that Dean’s face is no longer decaying or bleeding, and the roots of the horns have receded. The horns themselves are the only things that remain. Well, on his face at least. Cas is too afraid to ask what other physical changes under his clothes might have happened.

“You’re looking more like yourself.”

Dean grins with his teeth this time and flashes his eyes black. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

Cas pulls up a chair facing Dean and leans forward in it. “You’re in the, for lack of a better term, split personality phase.”

Dean’s eyes change back to green. “Excuse me?”

“You’re trying to decide what you want to be—human or demon—and so you’re acting in the extreme of both. One minute you’re the gentle man I love, and the next minute you’re the cold-hearted demon that...I also love.”

His mouth falls open and quivers a bit before he can find his words again. “You—did you just say you-you— _love?”_

“Of course, Dean. Of course I love you.”

“You can’t—you can’t just say that, dude! It’s-it’s—I’m—”

“What, Dean?”

“It’s manipulation! You’re trying to appeal to my _humanity_ or whatever the fuck, and you use the one line we were never supposed to cross to begin with! It’s unfair. That’s not—it’s not how I-I-I want to hear that from you.”

“Forgive me. I did not mean…It is much simpler for me. Loving you has become a part of who I am, and it is not something I wish to keep from you. I did not think it needed to be a grand display or a monumental moment. And I am certainly not trying to manipulate you, Dean, although I understand why you see it that way. I am simply stating a fact.”

His face turns dark again. “You think you can control me, well, you can’t. I _own_ you, Castiel. You’ll always pick me. Cursed or not, right? So quit acting like you have any power here.”

Cas stands and rests his hands over Dean’s wrists. He leans forward until he’s inches from his face. “You listen to me, Dean Winchester. This is not about power. This is not about you being a demon or having the Mark of Cain or come what may. This is about me loving you and sticking by your side through anything. I am not leaving you. Even if I have to watch you murder the world. Do you understand?"

Dean’s eyes widen. He swallows and nods.

“Good.” Cas grabs the back of his head and pecks his forehead between his horns. “Get some sleep. Krissy will be in again soon.”

As Cas leaves the room, his chest hurts where his heart is apparently trying to beat out of it.

 

* * *

 

Not just his head, but his entire body is pounding. His whole body aches with anticipation, with need. The world looks gray. Just one, big blanket of gray.

He caves.

Everybody's so preoccupied with their own shit that they don't even notice him slip out the back door. Instead of summoning a demon, he finds one already possessing some poor bastard at a gas station up the road. Probably one of Crowley's guys keeping an eye on the bunker.

Sam doesn't even care when he guts the innocent person and sucks them dry.

He's still thirsty when the blood runs out.

 

* * *

 

Dean is awake the next time Krissy comes in.

She doesn’t look at him or say anything or give any sign of emotion whatsoever.

He counts the seconds until she leaves just to distract himself from wanting to kill her.

 

* * *

 

Cas pukes until all that’s coming up is bile.

He’s not sure how long he spends in the bathroom, but when he comes out he can’t find Hannah. She didn’t say she was going anywhere, and last he checked she was reading a book in the library. It doesn’t really make sense for her to disappear.

“Hannah?”

He checks the library, kitchen, war room.

“Hannah? Are you here?”

He rounds the corner into the hallway.

“Sam, have you seen—”

Cas is cut off by a hand to his mouth, another wrapped around his neck. He’s shoved back against an all-too-familiar body.

“What was that you said about slitting my throat?” Dean asks as he presses a knife against Cas’ skin.

“What did you do to Hannah?”

“Don’t tell me you cared about her. She’s dead.”

“You fucking—”

The pressure of the knife increases. “Ah, ah, ah. This isn’t an angel blade, but I don’t think it matters much with you now, does it?”

Dean nicks his neck, and Cas stupidly winces.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Why don’t I put you out of your misery?” He pulls Cas tighter against his front and spits in his ear, “A mercy death, right?”

“You’re not Dean.”

“Oh, trust me, honey, this is real.”

“I know it’s real, but you’re not Dean. Dean wouldn’t do this to me.”

“What the fuck do you know? How many times have I let you down, huh? Treated you like a weapon instead of a friend? Only wanted you around because you’re useful? Or hell, used you for sex without ever even returning the favor. How many times have you disappointed me so bad I wanted nothing to do with you, Castiel?” He jerks Cas back and nicks his neck again. “Tell me you expected our relationship to end any other way than _this.”_

He can feel it. He can feel the knife slicing through his skin and he knows he’s about to die and—

“Hey, asshole.”

There’s a bright light. Cas doesn’t have to close his eyes.

Everything turns dark as he falls to the floor.

When he wakes up, Hannah is holding his face in her hands.

 

* * *

 

"Krissy! Get Sam!"

"He's not here! I've been looking everywhere for him, and he's not fucking here!"

Hannah lifts Cas' limp body and carries him to an empty bedroom, Krissy at her heels. "I believe Dean went back down to the dungeon. But Krissy, I need your help here."

"Yeah. Yeah, what is it? I'm here, I'm-I—"

"I need you to calm down, OK? Breathe for me. There you go. All right, listen carefully. This place is going to fall apart without you and me here. So get me some ice and a jar of honey, please."

"Ice and a jar of honey?"

"Yes."

"Why a jar of honey?"

"Angels often communicate through scents. Honey is Castiel's favorite. Ice and honey, Krissy."

Krissy runs to the kitchen but stops abruptly when she sees Sam. He has a jug in one hand and is frantically pushing things around in the fridge as if trying to make room. The jug is opaque. She can guess what's inside.

She tiptoes to the cabinet and grabs honey and sprints out. Sam doesn't notice her.

They make do without the ice.

 

* * *

 

Dean makes it back to the dungeon before he falls to his knees and vomits onto the floor. It’s mostly blood and what looks like his…intestines or something. Not like it really matters. If he really is, like Sam said, still fully demon, then nothing can seriously hurt him.

Physically, at least.

Sam bursts in before Dean can get up off the floor, and he shoves him away when his brother tries to help him up.

“Dean, what the hell happened?”

“I’m fine, Sammy.”

“I’m not talking about you. What the fuck did you do to Cas?”

“I didn’t—I wasn’t—” Dean’s breathing becomes labored and his heart is pounding in his ears and yeah, that’s a panic attack.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, come on. I got you,” Sam soothes with a hand to Dean’s chest and another on his back to support him. “You didn’t kill him. He’s rattled, but alive.”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to reorient himself. When the room stops spinning, he asks, “Is this how it’s always going to be now?”

“What?”

“Am I—you know, a ruthless monster one minute and a scared, sick kid the next?”

Sam guides Dean to the chair and keeps a hand on his shoulder as he speaks. “You’re not either of those things, Dean. You’re you. Couple more doses and you won’t have any more…episodes.”

“What if I do something—something bad before then?”

Sam grips his shoulder tighter. “You won’t.”

Dean nods shyly, still not convinced, and Sam turns to leave.

“I’m just going to get Krissy. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Have you had any more?”

Sam freezes, and Dean bites his tongue. Why’d he have to ask.

“Forget it, I’m—”

“No. I haven’t. That’s why I haven’t seen you in two days.” Sam turns around but doesn’t look at Dean.

Two days? Sammy’s been gone for _two days?_ How long has Dean _been_ here?

“Not ‘cause I’m—I mean, your blood isn’t nearly as enticing anymore, but it’s still...” He takes a pause and runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to collect his thoughts. “But, uh, that’s not why. I was, you know, detoxing.”

“You OK?”

Sam finally looks at him, confusion in his eyes. “You care?”

“Of course I care. You’re still my little brother, aren’t you?”

The edges of Sam’s mouth pull down in a smile. “I’m OK. I can still smell you from over here, but the urge to go all Dracula on you is mild.”

“It’s weird that it’s not weird that we’re talking about this, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Um, I’m going to go.”

Dean drifts out of consciousness before Sam returns with Krissy.

He dreams of slitting Cas’ throat.

And then he slits Sam’s, too.

Except Sam wakes back up with black eyes and latches a hand to Dean's throat as he laughs, blood pouring from his neck. 

The next time he wakes up, he’s in his own bed.

There are no cuffs on his hands or locks on his door. He’s wearing pajamas, and the crusted blood under his fingernails has been cleaned. He’s alone.

He swings his feet onto the floor and presses his palms into his eye sockets until he’s seeing stars. Realizing how eerily quiet it is in the bunker, he decides to head out into the hall to see what’s going on.

Sam is in the kitchen making coffee and looking…relaxed. He’s wearing pajamas, too, and his hair is a wreck.

“What did I miss?” Dean asks as he takes a seat at the table.

Sam jumps and then takes a relieved breath. “Dude, you’ve been out for four days.”

“What?”

“Do you even know—it’s been two weeks since you got here.”

“Shit.”

Sam pours him a cup of coffee and leans back against the counter. “There were some, uh, nightmares. You slept walked some, but we kept all the weapons out of reach and were able to get you back into bed pretty easily.”

“I didn’t try to—I mean, did I not try to, uh, hurt you with my hands?”

“Oh no, it wasn’t us you were after. You…were kind of trying to kill yourself.”

Dean doesn’t say anything.

“Not like…you weren’t exactly suicidal. Just, your ‘demon’ self was basically trying to claw out your human self. Yesterday was the first day you didn’t have to be monitored.”

"Am I—is the Harvey Dent thing over or did I pick a side already?"

"We're, uh, not sure. Pretty confident, but it's still up in the air."

“Where’s Cas? Is he OK?”

Sam stares down into his mug. “Um, Hannah’s taking care of him. He’s, uh, not great.”

Dean’s out of his chair and down the hall in a second. Sam is following him, trying to appease him, but Dean’s not hearing any of it. He opens every door he passes until finally he sees Cas lying in bed, Hannah wetting a washcloth at the sink in the corner.

He expects some sort of protest, maybe Hannah flinging him across the room and asking Sam what the hell he’s doing there.

Instead, she smiles softly at him and continues her work at the sink.

Sam admits defeat by hanging back in the doorway while Dean sits in the chair that’s already next to Cas’ bed and gropes around the covers for his hand.

Cas doesn’t even open his eyes. “Dean?”

“Yeah, buddy, I’m right here.”

Cas turns over onto his side and smiles. His eyes crack open. “The claw marks are gone.”

“I’m, uh—”

“You were clawing at your face at one point,” Sam provides from the door. “Didn’t seem like much to me, but Cas said it was pretty fucking scary.”

Dean squeezes Cas’ hand, but Cas just reaches out his other hand and strokes Dean’s face.

“Love you, Dean.”

“Cas, are you—is this my fault?”

Cas’ eyes widen, and he suddenly becomes very serious. Which leads to a coughing fit before he can answer. “No. No, Dean. I’m—my grace is almost completely gone.”

Dean turns back to wave at Sam and Hannah to get the hell out of the room. They nod and shut the door behind them.

“You dying, Cas?”

[“Methuselah.”](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+5%3A27&version=NKJV)

“What?”

“He was 969 years old when he died. Oldest human to ever live. I-I remember thinking, ‘wow, what a short life.’”

Dean lets go of Cas’ hand and carefully maneuvers himself so he’s lying on the bed, too. “How old are you?”

“Four billion, two hundred ninety-nine million, four hundred thirty-seven thousand, six hundred forty-three years. Roughly.”

After several seconds of silence, Cas gingerly flips over and wraps an arm around Dean’s chest.

“But…you can’t…and earth…”

“Was inhabited for a very long time before humans evolved. God creating the earth in seven days is simply…poetry. Don’t believe everything you read in the Bible, Dean.”

“Shit, Cas.”

“My point…is that if I must die—” Cas coughs again and tightens his grip on Dean’s side, “—if I must die, it seems someone made sure I met you first. Even if it took four billion years.”

“Cas, you can’t—”

His grip on Dean goes lax.

He closes his eyes. Blue light spills like tears onto his cheeks before disappearing.

Dean holds his breath, expects the worst. But then Cas takes a deep breath in his sleep and buries himself closer into his side. Dean sighs in relief and wraps both arms tightly around his angel.

 

* * *

 

Hannah is standing in the library staring at a wall of books when she hears Krissy walk in from her right.

“Hello, Krissy.”

“Cas 2.0. Nice to see you're still here holding down the fort.”

“My name is Hann—”

“Yeah, I know. Jokes are things. Um. Shouldn’t you be…?”

Hannah takes a seat at the table in hopes that it will make Krissy feel more comfortable. “Dean is with him now.”

“What, uh, happens to angels when they die?”

“Angels do not die. Our grace is one living, breathing wavelength. If we ‘die,’ our grace simply cycles back through the spiritual realm. We lose our individual…personalities, but most of us are not particularly attached to those anyway.”

Krissy laughs, and Hannah is unsure why. Then she clears her throat and continues, “Why are you here anyway? Don’t you have, uh, better things to do?”

“I do, yes. Heaven is in turmoil, and I wish to help fix it.”

“Then why are you…I mean, Cas is just one dude. Why do you care if he gets better?”

Hannah considers it for a moment and then answers honestly, “I don’t know. I-I think it has something to do with…love?”

“Love? Like, you love Cas?”

“No, not like—the love he and Dean share. It is, for some reason, important to me.”

Krissy laughs again and crosses her arms. “You’re cool. I wish you’d stick around.”

“Why’s that?”

“Too many dudes in this house. Anyway, I hope you don’t spend too much time or energy trying to save Cas. That is, at least until you figure out why _love_ motivates you.”

Hannah considers it for a long time after the girl leaves. She has a point. Never having felt romantic or deeply intense love herself, Hannah wonders why all of a sudden this is hitting her.

She goes to heaven.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t—”

“Shut the fuck up, Metatron. I want Castiel’s grace.”

 

* * *

 

Cas wakes up to the low sound of Dean’s voice right next to him.

“…Djinn was probably just confused by the concept of bisexuality. I mean, why else would he put me in a relationship with _two_ people? That’s not me. But anyway, those were all the weirdest encounters with monsters I’ve ever had.”

“Dean.”

Dean turns his head abruptly before smiling down at Cas. “Oh. You’re awake,” he greets as he pushes a hand through Cas’ hair.

“Did you stay up all night?”

“Slept for four days, so I’m pretty wired. Must be the demon side keeping me up or something. And-and I just, you know. Wanted to make sure you were going to…wake up.”

“Where is Hannah?”

“She, uh, stopped by a few hours ago. Worked some mojo on you and then said she had some other business to attend to or something.”

Cas flips onto his back so he and Dean are lying next to each other instead of tangled together. “And how are you feeling?”

“Me? Um. I mean, shit, Cas. I-I got to be honest here.” Dean turns his head, but Cas doesn’t look over at him. “I wake up and you’re dying. And I don’t even know how to apologize for…”

“You don’t have to apologize, Dean. All is forgiven.”

“But I _am_ sorry. You need to know how fucking sorry I am. I, um. Cas?”

He turns his head. “Yes, Dean?”

“Can we, um, be together again? You know, like before? I know I’m a demon and probably ugly to you and I—”

Cas uses all of his strength to surge forward and press his lips against Dean’s. He holds his cheek and bumps their foreheads together. “Yes, Dean. My head fits right here between your horns just fine.”

Dean laughs, and then Cas is laughing, and they stay like that for a long time until there’s a knock on the door.

Hannah comes in looking like she’s on a very serious mission. Her eyes dance between the two of them in what seems like confusion.

“Castiel, do you want your grace back?”

He sits up in bed and coughs with the effort. “Of course. Yes.”

“Metatron is locked in the Winchesters’ dungeon.”

 _“What?”_ Dean exclaims.

“I want to speak to him. Alone.”

“Cas, you sure you—”

“Hannah, can you make me strong enough to-to stand? And walk?”

Dean rubs a hand into Cas’ back while Hannah walks over to the bed and places her palm on Cas’ cheek. He closes his eyes and breathes deep as her grace strengthens his bones.

He stands immediately and heads determinedly for the door. When he feels Hannah and Dean both following close at his heels, he turns to them.

“I want to do this alone.”

He expects some protest, but none comes.

Hannah claims she has business to attend to anyway, and Dean just nods and smiles gently.

His breathing is labored by the time he makes it to the dungeon, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care if Metatron sees his weakness. Nothing matters.

Metatron starts talking as soon as Cas opens the door, but Cas doesn’t hear a word he says.

He takes his angel blade and slices Metatron’s neck just enough to take his grace in a vial.

For the first time, Metatron is speechless.

“You get your grace back when I get mine.”

 

* * *

 

Hannah isn’t sure why she does it, but something compels her to return to the town in which she met her vessel.

It takes less than 24 hours for someone to recognize her.

“Caroline?”

“Um,” is all Hannah can think to say.

“Caroline, you’ve been gone a year. Disappeared. What-what the hell happened?”

As Hannah stares into the brown eyes of the woman standing in front of her, she begins to understand.

She understands why love has become so important to her.

On an impulse she’s never felt before, Hannah steps forward and wraps her arms around the woman. The woman squeezes back and cries into her shoulder.

“I missed you so damn much.”

Hannah doesn’t say anything back.

She can feel Caroline…rejoicing? Screaming? There are conflicting emotions happening inside of her, and she doesn’t know what exactly she’s supposed to do.

She gets a name, _Aleisha,_ and wonders why she never saw Aleisha when she was speaking to Caroline about taking her as a vessel.

 _Thought being a lesbian might disqualify me from doing the work of heaven_ , Caroline says.

It’s the first time she’s directly spoken to Hannah since she said yes.

 _Why would it?_ Hannah responds back.

_You’re joking, right? No. Never mind. Don’t answer that. Hey! Um. Will I ever…go home? To Aleisha?_

“So, what happened? I’ve been worried sick about you. Everybody thought you were…”

Hannah pulls away from Aleisha, surprisingly reluctantly, and says, “I can explain everything. Um, I—can you give me some time? There are some things…I need to work out. I’ll call you?”

Aleisha looks down at the floor between them and scratches her scalp. “Um, yeah. But you’ll—you’re coming back, right?”

“Yes. Yes of course.”

Caroline cheers.

 

* * *

 

Cas doesn’t tell Sam and Dean that he’s leaving with Metatron.

Dean opens the front door and deliberately waves when Cas pulls onto the road in his Lincoln. Cas nods, a silent thank you to Dean for not babying him.

“So, what’s happening in everybody’s favorite gay erotica? Tell me, what sort of setbacks did you and Dean face when he became a demon? Did it spice up your love life, or did it—”

Cas punches Metatron in the face.

“All right, so I’m assuming it wasn’t great then. How about now? I saw those horns, I can imagine the kind of kinky shit—”

It doesn’t drain Cas of any grace to tune into angel radio in order to ignore Metatron.

He picks Hannah’s voice out of the white noise and nudges at her mind.

_Castiel? Did you get your grace back?_

_No. But yours is keeping me sane._

_Sane? Are you with Metatron?_

_That was very human of you to pick up on._

_That reminds me—I need to tell you something, Castiel. I’m in heaven. In my true form. I abandoned my human vessel._

_What?_

Metatron is making obscene gestures, so Cas punches him again.

_My vessel, she was in love. I think that’s why I understood…_

_Understood what?_

_Whenever you talked about human things, and why I wanted to help you and Dean so much. Love is a powerful motivator. I am glad to be introduced to it._

_Hannah, angels were made to love God. How could you not know…?_

_No, Cas. Angels were made to serve and worship God. Very few actually learned to love. You are among the strangest of us._

_And look where it’s gotten me._

_Get your grace, Castiel. And then rip Metatron’s heart out for me._

“Are you even listening to me, Asstiel? You need to make a left turn at the next light.”

They arrive at a public library, and Metatron brings them around the back to find a door that’s unlocked.

Cas feels a surge of energy, the hope of what’s to come, as soon as he steps inside. He breathes deep and tries not to let show how excited and desperate he is to get his grace back.

Metatron claims that they have to answer a series of riddles in order to find which book Cas’ grace is stored in.

_What’s the maddest thing a man can do?_

“I’m curious, why do you even _want_ your grace back? No offense, but you were a pretty shitty angel, bucko. Even with mission and purpose and a drive for leadership, you still fell flat on your face every time. And now? What’s your mission now, Castiel?”

_What’s the maddest thing a man can do?_

“You gave up on the rogue angels the second Dean Winchester needed your help. Heaven is in shambles, and you can’t even get up there to help fix it. Not that you would be much help anyway, even with your grace. I guess I’m just failing to see the _point_ here.”

_What’s the maddest thing a man can do?_

“You’ve got nothing really to live for. I mean, your boy toy is still definitely a demon. He probably doesn’t give a rat’s ass about you. Hell, even Hannah ran out on you and she was the only angel you’re still in contact with. Who are you? What sort of identity do you even have? Tell me, Castiel, what’s the point of even living anymore?”

_Let himself die._

He feels like he might explode when his grace works through his veins. He can feel himself coming back, every bit of his true form remaking itself in the spiritual realm as it’s released from the small bottle. His personality—his soul, he realizes—merges with his grace and reminds him that he does indeed have a crack in his chassis.

He is fully angel and fully human, strangest of them all.

He stabs Metatron through the heart. No light pours out of his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referenced verses: 
> 
> [Matthew 7:24-27](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+7%3A24-27&version=NKJV)  
> [Genesis 5:27](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+5%3A27&version=NKJV)


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, Cas' grace is FULLY restored now. Unlike on the show where he still can't fly and shit. Also, Claire is different than how she is on the show because FUCK canon.

_Flint, Michigan, dude. You got to fly up here._

“What is it, Dean?”

“Jesus, Cas, I’m not used to you doing that anymore.”

Cas smirks, and Dean punches him in the arm. It hurts his hand.

“C’mon, you got to see this,” Dean states with a wave of his arm as he heads back toward the high school auditorium.

“Dean, what—”

“Nope, no questions.”

_John and Mary, husband and wife_

_Bringing home a brand new life_

_His name is Sammy_

_I’m big brother, Dean._

“This is a high school production about your lives except everyone is played by young women,” Cas deadpans while Siobhan continues to sing.

“Dude. _Dude._ It’s a high school play about our lives. A fucking musical.”

“And why did you want me to be here for this?”

Dean grabs Cas’ shoulder in solidarity. “Because you’re going to suffer with me, babe.”

Sam joins them once he’s done asking the director and stage manager if they know anything about Miss Chandler’s disappearance.

“Hey, Cas. Dean drag you here?”

“There might’ve been a prayer, yes. If I’d known this is what I’d be doing when I got my wings back…”

“Sorry, buddy. Hey, uh, why don’t you guys go with Marie to check out Miss Chandler’s office, and I’ll go with Maeve to get a…tour of the set.”

“Sammy, please don’t tell me you’re actually enjoying this.”

“This is a much higher production value than I ever had in high school, Dean. Sue me.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Where is the girl playing me? Is she an important aspect of the story or just a minor character?” Cas asks seriously.

“You’re joking, right?”

“I would like to speak to her.”

“I’m really going to be sick.”

Cas walks down the steps of the auditorium presumably to go find the girl playing him.

Marie shows up at Dean’s side and says, “Your partner told me to give you a tour of Miss Chandler’s office. Unless you’d rather…”

Dean stares as Cas pets the fake wings of girl Cas.

“Um, Agent Smith?”

“Hmm? Yeah. Uh, Miss Chandler’s office. Of course.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re kind of dressed like Cas, too. I mean, like, without the tie.”

“Yes, I suppose I am. You could say I’m…a fan.” Cas winks at Kristen as if she’s going to understand that he’s actually Cas.

“I’m a fan, too. Cas is such an underappreciated character in Edlund’s books. I’m surprised my role is even as big as it is.”

“Yes, well, the books are all about Sam and Dean after all.”

“Yeah, sure, but without Castiel the Winchesters would’ve never been able to save the world. He’s vital to the narrative in my opinion.”

“I suppose…you make a good point.” Cas smiles and catches Dean in his peripheral vision. He turns and waves up toward the seats. Dean winks.

When Cas turns back to Kristen, he finds her hugging the actress who plays Dean.

“Oh hello, Dean,” Cas states simply.

The girl grimaces at him before saying, “Hi…Agent.”

“Please, call me Ca—Carl. My name is Carl.”

The girls exchange looks, and then girl Dean says, “Siobhan. Nice to meet you.”

“You as well. Do you and Kristen get to kiss in the play?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since—um, Dean and Cas kiss. When Dean is about to say yes to Michael, and Cas is upset so he takes him to an alley and—”

“They don’t kiss then,” Kristen says, sounding offended. “Why would they kiss then? Cas is beating the shit out of Dean. That’s not romantic.”

“It wasn’t—it’s not meant to be romantic. It’s-it’s desperate and unreasonable, and Dean was doing whatever he could to push away the people who loved him. He believed Cas would…react poorly.” Not that they’ve ever talked about it, but they didn’t need to.

“How do you know all this shit?” Siobhan asks, sounding more amused than annoyed.

“I knew Carver Edlund personally,” Cas says without really thinking.

“Bullshit.”

“There is a lot more to the story than what’s written.”

“Yeah, in fan fiction maybe. Good try, buddy.”

 

* * *

 

“What are they doing?”

“Uh, kids these days call it _hugging.”_

“Is that in the show?”

“No, Siobhan and Kristen are a couple in real life.”

Dean crosses his arms and tries to keep his mouth shut. He really tries. “So are Dean and Cas, so why isn’t it in the show?”

Marie’s eyebrows lift like she’s suddenly just realized that she’s talking to an insane person. “Dean and Cas are…fictional characters.”

“No, yeah. I know. I just meant—never mind.”

Marie’s face softens, and she looks over at Siobhan and Kristen while they talk to Cas. “You know, I always wondered why Edlund didn’t have Dean and Cas end up together.”

“Yeah, and why’s that?”

“Well, Dean is openly bisexual even in the published books. Not that being bisexual automatically means that Dean’s going to bone any guy that comes his way, but…From the start of Castiel’s introduction in the unpublished books, it’s set up like a potential romance. Sure, it’s not _totally_ clear—and really, not even as blatant as the incestuous undertones—”

“What _incestuous_ undertones?”

“—But it could’ve been an amazing love story. God knows there’s enough of it in fan fiction to prove that’s true.”

“Fan fiction?”

“Yeah. Destiel fan fiction. You know, Dean and Cas together. Edlund apparently didn’t have the foresight to do it, so fans have to do it for him.”

Dean nods and tries to process everything he just heard.

“Hey, uh, you got any links to that Destiel fan fiction?”

 

* * *

 

Sam is going through lighting cues with Maeve when Dean signals to him that it’s time to go.

“So, you still think there’s a case here?” Sam asks as they head out to the car.

“I mean, there has to be. Right? This is too much of a mindfuck to be a coincidence.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised though. It’s been a while since the universe fucked with us. What’d you learn from Marie?”

“A lot of things I did not need to know.”

“What, is all the gay sex you’ve ever had in the show or something?”

“You know, I’m offended you think gay sex is more shameful than the _straight_ sex I have. I thought you were better than—”

“Oh my _god,_ Dean.”

“It’s actually the opposite.” Dean pushes his thumb and index fingers into his eyes. “There’s, like, nothing between me and Cas.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, fans apparently see it anyway. Subtext or whatever. They call us ‘Destiel.’”

As if on cue, Cas walks up to the car right then and doesn’t even ask why Sam is doubled over laughing.

“I don’t understand,” Sam says eventually.

“What’s not to under—”

“I mean, shouldn’t it be Deastiel? And what about Sastiel? Samstiel? Is it so impossible to believe that Cas and I could be—”

“I swear to god, Sammy, if you say something about you and my boyfriend—”

They all freeze. Sam and Cas stare at Dean with wide eyes. Dean stares at the ground.

It’s silent for a solid two or three minutes.

Sam whispers, “You know, this would make a great Deastiel fan fiction.”

 

* * *

 

When they get back to the bunker two days later, Cas hops out of the backseat, opens Dean’s door and yanks him by the wrist all the way to his bedroom.

“Boyfriend. I don’t know if I like that,” Cas growls as he hovers over Dean on the bed.

“I don’t know where that came from. I’ve never called anyone a boyfriend in my—”

Dean is cut off by Cas’ tongue down his throat. He wraps a hand around Cas’ neck and scratches his hair.

Cas pulls back and smiles. “The show was very good. I believe yours and Sam’s story is a heroic one.”

“Yours, too, honey.”

“I’m not sure…I did a lot of pining for you. Also, you’re not very nice to me apparently.”

Dean slides his arm down Cas’ side and grabs a handful of his ass. “Is this nice?”

Cas nods and makes an incoherent grunting sound.

“You know, I’m glad they didn’t have you and me together in the play. You’re not just some…love interest.”

“Are you saying I’m not defined by my relationship with you?” Cas asks with a laugh and then a nip to Dean’s earlobe.

“Buddy, that would be a sad life.”

Cas grinds his hips down and pushes a hand into Dean’s chest. “I can think of worse ways to live.”

 

* * *

 

“We need to track down the First Blade,” Sam says without looking up from his laptop when Dean and Cas stumble into the kitchen.

“Good morning to you, too,” Dean grumbles on his way to the coffee pot.

Cas takes a seat in a chair across from Sam. “I thought we already had—”

“It was a fake. Abaddon’s got the real one now. Sammy, she said if you touch it you’re dead. Cas, I don’t want you touching it, either.”

“Wait. Back up. Abaddon’s alive?” Sam asks.

Dean plops down next to Cas and rubs his eyes. “Uh, yeah. Oops. I think she and Crowley were working together the whole time.”

“Fuck.”

"Yeah, let's just say I'm glad I went to hell when I did. Being down there with them butting heads and fucking shit up, it's miserable."

"But do you think you can convince Abaddon to give you the Blade?" Sam asks.

“It would be really easy if I was still a huge dick.”

“Well, you still have access to hell,” Sam says confidently. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, turn on the charm and get the damn thing back?”

“I’m not—I don’t…” Dean shifts his weight from foot to foot. “She…scares the shit out of me, dude.”

Cas actually laughs out loud, head thrown back and everything.

“Shut up! You don’t know what she’s like with her fucking locusts and-and cheekbones.”

“Oh, Dean’s got a crush,” Sam mocks in a singsong voice.

“You know what? Fine! I’ll go to fucking hell and I’ll get the Blade, but you two assholes are _not invited!”_ He slams his coffee cup down and plants his feet assuredly. “Um. I can still fly, ri—”

He’s standing outside of Abaddon’s office before he even realizes what he’s done.

Being both human and demon is going to take a lot of getting used to.

Dean knocks on the door like a fucking child, and already that means Abaddon’s going to know that something’s up. As if his extremely altered appearance, lack of suit and the smell of fear weren’t enough to give him away.

“Well, Crowley sure has put a leash on you, hasn’t he?” Abaddon asks with her feet up on her desk as she files her nails.

“Where’s the Blade?”

“Um, last I checked _you_ had it, sweetie.”

“I’m not your sweetie.”

That gets her interest, and she glides across the room until they’re nose-to-nose. “Usually it’s ‘don’t call me sweetie.’ You only ever say ‘I’m not your sweetie’ when you’re, you know, somebody else’s sweetie. That angel of yours got you wrapped around his finger again, huh? Tell me, how does he feel about the horns? I imagine that can get interesting in the bed—”

Dean pushes a hand into her chest and takes a step back. “You really don’t have the Blade. So I guess I’ll be going.” He turns and heads for the door.

“What, no goodbye kiss? You’re not even going to offer to eat me out? Rude.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m taken,” he says over his shoulder before heading to Crowley’s office.

 

* * *

 

Dean is gone for two days before Cas tells Sam he has some things he needs to figure out.

With his wings back and the vastness of the Internet at his disposal, it doesn’t take him long to find Claire Novak.

_I’m proud of you, Castiel._

_Thank you, Hannah._

_I will tell Jimmy for you._

She is sitting on one of the front pews of an empty church on a Tuesday night, her head bowed and her arms crossed tightly around her stomach.

Castiel takes a seat at the pew on the other side of the aisle and waits.

“What are you doing here?” Claire asks several minutes later, just barely a whisper, without even opening her eyes.

“Uh…”

“Eloquent, Castiel.”

“How do you know—”

“We’ve shared a body before, you know. We’re not exactly unconnected.”

“I’m surprised to find you here.”

Claire finally opens her eyes and turns to glare at Cas. They’re sitting a lot farther apart than Cas realized. “But find me you did. So why are you here?”

“I…feel guilty,” Cas answers truthfully. “Your life—your parents’ lives, they matter. A lot more than I realized when I was just a soldier who needed a vessel.”

“And what are you now?”

“I’m still an angel. But I’m—I experience the same things humans do.”

“Um, OK,” Claire answers disbelievingly. “So you’re here to apologize. You apologized. Now what?”

“Do you live here, Claire?”

She tenses at that and stares straight ahead at the pulpit.

“I was homeless once, too. There were several churches that took me in, fed me, gave me a bed to sleep in. Companionship, things to do. It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Do you still believe in God, Castiel?”

“I do. I have not felt his presence in many years, but that does not negate from the other four billion years in which I did feel his presence more clearly.”

“God hasn’t spoken to me since you came along. But I still speak with him every day. Hoping.”

“I’m surprised. After all you’ve been through, how could you still believe in a being that was so cruel?”

“Perseverance of the saints? Irresistible grace? How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“John Calvin was a good man. You would’ve enjoyed talking to him.”

“You don’t know me.”

Cas tilts his head and smiles. “We’re connected. I can sense your feelings more clearly than I ever have with another human being.”

Claire rolls her eyes and pushes herself up from the pew. She turns to face Cas, and it’s only then that he notices her left hand.

“Would you like me to heal that for you?”

“Nah, I’m good. Besides, you’re the one who fucked it up in the first place.” She slides out into the aisle and heads toward the back of the church.

Cas stands and goes out into the aisle himself but stays at the front. “I can help you, you know.”

“Why do you think I need your help?”

“I don’t. But I know from experience that accepting help when it’s offered can be a good thing.”

She crosses her arms again. “You’re not him. You’ll never be him.”

“I know. I’m not trying to be.” Cas walks down the aisle until he’s just a few feet from Claire. “I can take you somewhere safer than this.”

“Really? Safer than a church?”

Claire starts to walk out without even looking back to see if Cas follows her.

“I can help you find your mom,” Cas states desperately.

She stops.

 

* * *

 

“The human blood worked then, I see,” Crowley states while he examines his fingernails disinterestedly.

“I need the Blade.”

“Too bad.”

Dean steps up to the throne and leans his hands on the armrests to block Crowley in. “You know, Abaddon’s a thousand times better in bed than you could ever dream of being. You sold your soul for a whole lot of nothing.”

Crowley just stares at him.

Dean smiles.

“Take your bloody Blade, Dean, and get the hell out.”

Dean winks as he backs up. Crowley snaps his fingers, and the Blade appears in Dean’s hand.

He turns to Crowley’s nearest henchman and sinks it into his heart.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” is the only excuse he gives before disappearing.

 

Dean stalls for another three days before returning to the bunker.

It feels really good to kill, and so he kills.

Monsters—exclusively. He didn’t discriminate when he was just a demon, but now that he’s got his humanity back, he’d rather not deal with the guilt of killing innocents.

He’s cleaning up a nest of a dozen vamps when he feels a hand on his shoulder and is flown back to the bunker.

“What the—”

“Drop the Blade,” Cas commands.

Dean does so immediately.

“Were you running away?”

“No. I just…”

Cas looks back at Sam, and Sam shrugs.

“You had to kill. Feed the Mark,” Cas explains.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“It has to come off,” Cas says more to Sam than Dean.

Sam shrugs again.

Dean steps past Cas and stares at his brother. “Tell me, Sammy, how often do you think about drinking demon blood? I mean, since you started all those years ago.”

No shrug.

“That was a drug addiction for you, right? But it got easier over time after you’d given it up. Of course, old habits die hard, as we’ve learned in the past couple of months.”

“The Mark is not an addiction, Dean,” Sam says calmly.

“Like hell it’s not! Currently our best defense mechanism is that I’m a _demon,_ Sam. There ain’t no getting this thing off.”

Sam steps into his personal space and scrutinizes him. “Is that really you talking, or does the Mark just _really_ want to stay on your arm?”

Dean storms out, picking the Blade up off the floor as he heads to his room.

 

There’s a knock on Dean’s door, but the person on the other side doesn’t wait for a response before opening it.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Claire Novak. We met once,” she explains as she pulls out Dean’s desk chair and takes a seat.

“And you’re here because…?”

“You really a demon?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“So then why don’t you just teleport out of here? Why lock yourself away in your room and let those assholes control you?”

Dean scoots himself up the bed so he’s sitting up higher. “Hey, those assholes are my—”

“Ah, I get it.”

“Get what?”

“The whole demon-human hybrid thing. Makes sense for why you’re not _actually_ running away.”

“I was never running—”

“There was a call for you,” Claire says as she pulls Dean’s phone out of her pocket and leans forward to hand it to him. “I found it on the table, didn’t want Sam or Cas to get to it first.”

“Um. Thanks?”

“Yeah.” She gets up and starts to leave.

“Wait, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I don’t know, man. Castiel is…persuasive.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I get that.”

After she shuts the door, the peace she brought with her lifts from Dean’s shoulders. The weight of his frustration replaces it.

Huh. Weird girl.

He doesn’t even bother looking at the number before he returns the call.

“I see you have the Blade back.”

“Cain.”

“Remember when I said I’d call?”

“You want me to kill you.”

“Something like that.”

Cain hangs up before Dean can ask what the hell he means.

Half an hour later, they’re all in the car shouting over one another while Dean stays huddled in the backseat holding the Blade against his chest like his life depends on it.

“It’s strange that he didn’t tell Dean where he is—”

“Or that he didn’t just show up at the front door. Dean, are you sure you remember exactly what he told you back when he gave you—”

“It’s a trap, you morons. He just wants the Blade back.”

“Claire has a point, but how are we supposed to prepare for it? We can’t just ignore—”

“Well apparently we _have_ been ignoring it. Cain’s killed three dozen people without any of us even—”

“If you remember correctly, we were a _bit_ preoccupied, Sam.”

“Will you two shut up for five seconds! Geez. Don’t you think we should ask what _Dean_ thinks of all this?” Claire reasons, and they all turn expectant looks at Dean.

Dean's mouth drops openly stupidly before he manages to say, “I-I want to kill him. But I don’t think that’s what he wants. I think Claire’s right and it’s a trap.”

“So what are you going to do if it is?” Sam asks, making eye contact with Dean through the rearview mirror.

“Hope to God I’m faster than him and kill him before he gets the Blade.”

There’s a beat before Sam replies, “This is the dumbest plan we’ve ever had.”

 

* * *

 

Cain sits in the barn and twiddles his thumbs while he waits. He doesn’t like being inactive.

He hasn’t killed anyone in a couple of days, and the Mark on his arm is angry. He has noticed, however, that sharing the burden with Dean Winchester has made it lighter. His urge to kill is not nearly as red-hot as it felt before, and he can deal with not having the Blade.

Even so, he still really wants it.

“You know Dean is going to try to kill you, right?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Then why the hell am _I_ here? What’s the point?”

“Patience, little girl.”

 

* * *

 

When they get out of the car, Dean drops the Blade to the ground. It’s like it has a mind of its own, and right now it’s more interested in whoever’s inside the barn.

Claire reaches down to pick it up for him, and Dean nearly falls over stopping her from touching it.

“Um, you OK, Dean?” she asks, holding her right hand up like she’s surrendering.

“It’s just—don’t touch this. It could, uh, kill you.”  

Claire makes a face like she doesn’t believe him, but she also doesn’t reach for it again. Dean picks it up gingerly and wipes the flat sides on his jacket before tucking it away.

When they get to the front of the barn, Sam, Cas and Claire separate themselves from Dean and don’t say anything.

“I’m going in alone?” he asks.

“We’ll be right here,” Sam assures.

“All right, well, uh, here goes nothing.”

The door shakes as it shuts behind Dean, and he takes his time before he turns to face the man inevitably waiting for him on the other side of the barn.

“What, no devil’s traps or holy water?” Cain asks from where he’s leaning up against an empty stall on the opposite wall.

Dean taps one of his horns and answers, “What, and hurt both of us? How would that work?”

“So, is this the part where you try to talk me down?”

“You’re well past talking down. I’d rather just kill you and get this over with.”

“Your hand’s shaking, Dean. That Blade doesn’t want to be with you right now.”

Dean tightens his grip and raises the weapon. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t really have a choice.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that you’re living my life in—”

“Cut the bullshit, Cain. I’m here to kill you and nothing else. So can we get on with it please?”

Cain straightens and tilts his chin up. “Fine. If that’s how you want it to be.”

Dean prepares himself for Cain to lunge, to fly right up to him and take the Blade, to do anything but turn around and step into the horse stall.

He’s only confused for half a second, however, because Cain immediately walks back out dragging a person behind him.

“Krissy.”

“How’s it going, Dean? It’d be great if you could, you know, kill this motherfucker for me.”

Cain ignores her as he pulls out his own knife. “What’s it going to be, Dean? You know, there are things about this Mark that you don’t even know. It might be…worth it to sacrifice a life or two and let me walk out of here.”

Dean slowly steps back until he’s right at the door. He kicks it open and shouts, “Back-up would be great right now, guys.”

Cain is putting his knife to Krissy’s throat, but Cas flies over in time and shoves him into the stall. He throws a bottle of holy water to Krissy, but Cain flies to Dean before they can trap him.

Dean feels his body slam against the side of the barn and gasps as the prongs of a pitchfork hanging on the wall pierce his back. He barely registers that the Blade falls out of his hand.

“It would be mercy for me to kill you before you turn into a monster,” Cain says as he holds Dean up by the throat.

“Like you?”

Before Cain can answer, his hand drops from Dean’s neck, and his face goes slack. He falls to his knees and slumps over, the Blade lodged in his back.

Claire stands behind him staring down at his lifeless body. She holds the Blade in her shriveled left hand.

“Give me that!” Dean shouts in a panic as he reaches forward and snatches the Blade out of Claire’s grip.

She’s breathing heavy and looks like she might panic, but then she closes her eyes and lets out a steady breath before asking, “Did I just kill a guy?”

“You killed a demon,” Dean explains, getting to his feet. “And you saved my life. So…thanks.”

“How are you—are you OK? You got stabbed and—”

Dean rolls his shoulders back and stretches his neck from side to side. “Still a demon myself.” He waves the Blade. “This is the only thing that can kill me, kiddo. Now let’s get the hell out of here and figure out how exactly you’re able to use this weapon.”

 

* * *

 

It’s been hours since anyone has spoken.

They don’t talk on the car ride home.

They don’t talk as they all shuffle into the library and take out computers and books.

They don’t talk as they do research.

Nobody says a word.

Not until the doorbell rings and Sam says, “I’ll get it” as he pulls himself out of his chair.

As soon as he’s gone, Dean asks, “Is it possible some of your grace got left behind in Claire, Cas? Like with Gadreel and Sam?”

“Yes, I already knew that was true the moment I found her,” Cas says with a pointed look to Claire. “But I also know that I cannot touch the Blade myself. It would weaken me significantly.”

“So you’re saying that can’t be the answer?”

Cas shakes his head and looks at Claire again.

“I’m not a demon! Quit looking at me like I’m a demon,” Claire complains before crossing her arms angrily.

“We’d be able to tell if you were a demon, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call her that.”

Dean and Claire both raise their eyebrows at Cas.

“Sorry. Continue,” Cas mumbles.

“Oh, so we’re talking now?” Sam asks as he enters the room with Charlie in tow.

“Well, I didn’t expect to see your sorry mug around here anytime soon,” Dean greets, getting up to wrap Charlie in a bear hug.

“You know, I left you in a mess a few months ago and figured I’d give you some time to work things out on your own. I can see how well that went over, what with you becoming a demon and all.” Charlie deliberately squints at Dean’s forehead.

Dean yanks on one of his horns and says, “Not corporeal. Sorry. You can’t see them with those boring human eyes of yours. What are you doing here anyway?”

“Sam texted me a couple of weeks ago, and I just now had enough time to come by. Well, that and he texted me again this afternoon saying shit hit the fan.” She drops her backpack onto the floor and pulls up a chair next to Claire. “What are we working on? Who are you? Wait a second, is that—oh my gosh, _Cas!"_

She nearly knocks her chair over to get to Cas in order to hug him.

"So nice to finally meet the guy banging Dean Winchester."

"Um. Thank you, Charlie," Cas mumbles into her hair.

She steps away and looks up at him with a bright smile. "We're going to be best friends."

Just then, Krissy walks in wearing a giant Stanford hoodie and rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “What’d I miss?”

They all turn to her, but nobody says anything for several seconds.

Eventually Sam breaks the tension with, “Where the _hell_ did you find that sweatshirt?”

 

* * *

 

Cas is tracing the lines on Dean’s palm with his fingertip and following the pattern with his eyes.

“What exactly did he say?”

“I don’t know, honey. Some nonsense about keeping him alive and sacrificing innocent lives.”

Cas digs his fingernail into the center of Dean’s hand in annoyance. “I can’t believe I don’t know more about this damn Mark.”

Dean runs a hand through Cas’ hair before dropping it to his own chest. “You didn’t care about Cain and Abel? Were you too busy watching frogs or something?”

“Probably. Frogs are fascinating.”

“Did you ever see dinosaurs?”

“Dean, focus. Do you feel any different since Cain died?”

Dean readjusts himself on the bed and yanks the covers up higher over their waists. “Yeah. Like…heavier somehow. That doesn’t make sense. Like it’s—I’m trudging through the snow, except now it’s a blizzard. That’s what it feels like.”

“Cold analogies usually mean Lucifer, so that’s less than comforting. My guess is that you and Cain were sharing the burden of the Mark. The problem is that we don’t know exactly what that burden is.”

Dean locks their fingers together tightly. “I’m scared, Cas.”

“I know,” Cas responds with a kiss to Dean’s knuckles. “But you have a lot of people here who love you. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Dean?”

Cas waits until Dean looks him in the eye.

“I know your comfort zone is when the weight of the world is on your shoulders and you’re being crushed under it, but it’s time you step out of that. Let some of the rest of us…help you.” He playfully flicks Dean’s ear. “Quit being so selfish and delegate some of that responsibility for once.”

Dean smiles softly at his…Cas and doesn’t respond.

Cas curls up under his arm and kisses his bare chest a few times.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“I love you, you know that?”

Cas continues kissing Dean’s chest. “I do.”

“That’s OK, right? It’s OK for us to know how much we mean to each other?”

Cas laughs, and his teeth graze over Dean’s skin. “I would like to spend the rest of my existence teaching you what healthy love looks like. Your mother was supposed to teach you, but the plans were changed.”

“Plans?”

“God often writes first drafts, and seconds and thirds.”

“Would we be here now? You and me? In his first draft, I mean.”

Cas lifts up and kisses Dean’s forehead. He pulls back with a smile and says, “Dean Winchester, I would find you in any draft.”

Dean laughs and cups Cas’ jaw. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“You love me,” Cas says with assurance.

“I do.”

“I love you, too.”

“I know.”

“You’re going to get through this, you know.”

“I…OK.”

“Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I saw dinosaurs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [is an unoriginal asshole who has Claire Novak stabbing monsters in the back in more than one fic]


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of season 10?? If I've even been following season 10 at all???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for lots o' violence, gruesome depictions, death and abuse and all that. Srsly so much violence.

“I know why you’re here, and I’m not interested. Bored, actually. I’m bored with you, and you haven’t even spoken. Quit while you’re ahead and leave.”

“Your grace, if you would allow me to—”

“Your _grace?_ Who am I, Cersei Lannister? I might be queen, but I’m not into all that nonsense. Please, get to your point.”

“Crowley should be dead.”

Abaddon removes her feet from her desk and leans forward. “I’m listening.”

“Give me one good reason why you’ve kept him alive this long.”

“Well, he’s _king._ And just as I, as queen, am incapable of being killed by him, he is also incapable of being killed by _me._ Them’s the rules.”

“Rules were meant to be broken.”

“What are you, a rebellious elementary school kid? Tell me, why do you want Crowley dead in the first place?”

“He’s gone soft. He cares more about those petty Winchesters than he does about the state of hell, and if it wasn’t for you this place would be in mutiny.”

“That doesn’t seem like a compelling enough—”

“And he’s my son.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh for god’s sake, just knock.”

“What? I was just going to—”

“Stand in front of her door all day wondering if she likes you back?”

Krissy balls her hands into fists and glares at Dean. “How long did it take you to ask Cas out again?”

Dean gasps in protest, but then Cas is walking up behind him and saying, “The years were short to me, but if we’re measuring by the amount of blow jobs given before he asked me out, then—”

“Jesus Christ, can we not—”

The door to Claire’s room opens, and she appears in her pajamas with her hair in a messy bun. “Lots of taking the Lord’s name in vain going on out here. I mean, not that I care that much, but what’s the occasion?”

Krissy hears rather than sees Dean and Cas run down the hall away from Claire’s room.

“Uh,” Krissy says intelligently.

Claire smiles and opens the door a bit further. “You want to come in?”

“Sure.”

“Um, you can move now.”

“Oh, right! Yeah.” Krissy shuffles her way past Claire and stands awkwardly in the middle of the small room, unsure if she should sit on the bed or in the chair in the corner or if she should just keep standing like an idiot.

“So, um, how are you doing?” Claire sits on the edge of the bed and pats the spot to her right.

Krissy takes the invitation and sits. “I’m OK. It’s not the first time I’ve almost been killed by a monster, and it probably won’t be the last. What about you? Was that your first kill?”

Claire’s eyes go wide before she stares down at her lap. “I hope it’s my _only_ kill. I’m not into this whole…hunting thing.”

“But you’re into the religious stuff? Sorry, I heard you talking…”

Claire laughs softly and waves Krissy off. “No, I don’t mind. I believe in the God of the Bible and have since I was 8. Castiel took me as a vessel once, and I was willing to give up my life to serve his purposes. Thought I was serving the will of heaven and all that.”

“You know—you’re aware that pretty much everybody’s guaranteed a spot in heaven as long as you don’t royally fuck up, right? So, like, what’s the point of worshiping a God who even _angels_ claim is absent?”

“People always think everything’s about heaven. I don’t believe in God because I need to go to heaven. It’s just…eternal life is _knowing_ God. Having a relationship with him. I don’t believe because it makes me feel better—it actually _doesn’t_ make me feel better most of the time—and I don’t believe because it’s how I was raised—even though I _was_ raised by Christian parents. I believe because I think it’s true. And if it’s true, then it changes everything about how I live my life.”

“So, your faith—um, are there things you disapprove of? You know, like, is it weird for you that Dean and Cas are…?”

Claire laughs, and Krissy feels her face heat up. “The only thing that’s weird is that Cas looks like my dad. I can’t really get upset about the whole gay thing when I’m gay myself.”

Krissy’s eyes widen, but she schools her face before saying, “Oh? That’s, uh, that’s…”

“You’re very cute when you’re flustered, you know.”

Krissy turns her head sharply and meets Claire’s eyes in a panic.

Claire smiles softly at her before sliding her hand over to cover Krissy’s. “I know you’re still new to all this. You should try talking to Dean again. He can help you figure out what it is you’re feeling. I think.”

“How did you know I talked to Dean in the first place?”

Claire shrugs and explains, “I just know things sometimes. I don’t know.”

"How did you—never mind."

"What? You can ask," Claire says with a reassuring squeeze to Krissy's hand.

"Your hand. What happened to it?"

"Oh, this old thing?" She lifts her left hand as much as she's able before flopping it back uselessly by her side. "'My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in [weakness.'](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2+corinthians+12%3A7-9&version=NKJV) That's what God told Paul when he asked three times for the 'thorn' in his flesh to be removed. I like to think Paul had a similarly useless claw for a hand." She looks up at the ceiling and shifts before continuing, "But, uh, apparently an 8-year-old can't quite handle all that grace at once. Cas left my body, and a limb suffered. Could've been a lot worse I suppose."

"Why aren't you angrier? He-he ruined your life." 

Claire laughs and looks into Krissy's eyes. "You're trying to be angry on my behalf, but you also like Cas. I'm sorry. I believe in God's sovereignty, so even when shitty stuff happens, I trust that it's what was intended to happen."

"Everything happens for a reason type shit?"

"Something like that."

Krissy stares down at her nails and tries to focus. “I, um, I really like you. You’re, like, really fascinating and way cooler than any other person that’s ever walked into this bunker.”

“I like you, too,” she says with another squeeze to her hand. “I mean, I just met you two days ago, but still.”

“Do you want to—I mean—I have a bike, and-and I could take you out on it sometime? Like, I could take you out. On a date. Or something. I mean.”

Claire leans forward and kisses Krissy on the cheek. “I would love that.”

There’s a muffled “hell _fucking_ yes” on the other side of the door followed by a “Dean, be _quiet.”_

* * *

 

“Find anything?” Sam asks as he pulls up a seat next to Charlie and hands her a thermos full of coffee.

“There’s a thing called the Book of the Damned. It’s lost, but it looks promising.”

“Can it cure Dean?”

“Won’t know ‘til we find it. I think I can handle looking for it on my own. I’ll just run it by Dean and—”

“No! If you tell Dean, he’ll never let you do it. You know how he is.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow at Sam and gives him a hard stare. “I won’t lie. And I’m not letting you lie to him either. We all know how well that always ends, right?”

“Yeah, but this is differ—”

“No, it’s not. Going behind Dean’s back when he’s hardwired to kill right now is a terrible idea. Especially after all the progress you guys have made lately.”

“Progress? You mean like when he became a demon and disappeared and I had to drink demon blood to get him back? Yeah, that was great progress.”

“You guys are different around each other, and you don’t even realize it. I’ve seen you both smile more often in the past three days than I’ve ever seen before, and that’s _with_ all the shit that’s hitting the fan right now. Dean made you laugh so hard at dinner last night that you cried, Sam. He’s talked about taking a vacation to the beach. He’s drinking half as much as he used to, and you’re too busy making googly eyes at him to notice.” Charlie gestures her arms out like this is the most obvious thing in the world.

“So what’s your point?”

“My point—and don’t you ever tell a soul I said something this Hallmark—is that there’s more love and care in this bunker than I could’ve ever imagined there would be, and if you screw it up by lying to Dean then I’m going to have to hit you in the face.”

“I’ll go get Dean.”

 

* * *

 

It takes a long time to get Claire to open up about what happened with her mom.

Cas tries to ease her into it, tries to be patient and gentle, tries everything he can think of to get any kind of information out of her that could be useful in finding Amelia.

But nothing.

She doesn’t want to speak to him. She barely wants to look at him.

He wishes he could understand. He wishes he could go back in time and understand what it was like for her when she was a child and losing her father to the will of heaven. He wishes he’d done everything differently.

She’s been at the bunker for three weeks when it finally happens.

“Whoa, where’d those come from?” she asks Dean as she sits at the kitchen table one morning.

“Hmm?” Dean responds, looking back at her while flipping a pancake.

She taps her forehead twice.

“Can you—you can see my horns?”

Everyone in the room stops moving and stares at Claire.

“What? They weren’t there yesterday, and now they are. Wait, dude, what’s wrong with your tongue? _Is your tongue split?”_

“OK, seriously, _what_ is your deal?” Krissy asks, sounding frustrated.

Claire just shrugs.

“I believe Claire might have the gift of spiritual matters,” Cas says before he even fully finishes his line of thinking.

Everyone stares at him blankly.

“Spiritual matters as in she is connected to the spiritual realm in a way that most humans are not. Possibly because of my grace, but more likely because of her faith.”

“So, what? I’m, like, the realest Christian you’ve ever met or something?”

“Something like that,” Cas says with a smile.

Claire hides her own smile behind her coffee mug.

They clear out of the kitchen one by one after that until only Dean, Cas and Claire remain. Cas is sitting separate from them, trying to find information about Amelia Novak on Dean’s computer.

“Do you even have to eat as a demon?”

“No, but what the fuck kind of sad life is that?” Dean responds around a mouthful of pancake.

“So instead of not eating, you eat…a lot.”

“Well, yeah. It’s not like I get full or anything. Might as well enjoy the perks. Better than killing people.”

Claire takes a pause before she asks, “If a person was bad enough, could you…would you consider killing them? Seeing them as a monster, so to speak.”

“What, you got some abusive ex-girlfriend or something? I’ll fuck somebody up, just give me a name.”

“Dean,” Cas chastises.

Dean looks over at him innocently, cheeks full of pancakes.

“No, it’s not that,” Claire continues. “It’s…these men, they—when I was 12, they, um, took my mom. My mom was—she was not good after my dad…and I was at school and couldn’t do anything and the police came and they said—they said—and I—”

Cas moves over to the table to offer comfort to Claire, but Dean beats him to it. He crouches down next to her chair and rubs her knee while she cries.

“Hey, shh, it’s OK,” Dean soothes. “Listen, it’s OK. Whenever you’re up for it, I want you to tell me everything you know about these men. All right, sweetheart? I’ll track them down and I’ll send them straight to hell. And we’ll find your mom, OK?”

Cas thinks Claire is going to shut down, but instead she just sniffs and nods at Dean before pushing her chair back and leaving the kitchen.

Dean turns to Cas with a very serious expression on his face. “I swear to god, if that girl’s mom is dead…”

“Regardless of whether or not she is alive, we will make those men suffer the consequences.”

 

* * *

 

Charlie is stitching up a bullet wound in her side when she’s interrupted by a Scottish woman’s voice on the other side of the hotel room.

“I can help you with that book, you know.”

“What? Who are you? Why are you in here?” She fumbles for her gun but winces when she tries to move.

“You found the Book of the Damned, dear. That’s good. But how do you expect to read it?” The woman has a dangerous smile as she takes slow steps toward Charlie’s bed.

“How did you get in here?”

“I’m a witch. I can do almost anything I want.”

“Is this the part where you tell me you can read this book as long as I do something really weird like carry you up a mountain and let you eat onions or something? Because I—”

“No, this is where we work together to translate the book. And when we’re done, you’ll have that precious cure you’re looking for.” She sits on the edge of the bed and places a hand on the spine of the book.

“How do you know—”

“It’s not important, _Charlie_. Let’s help each other, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

Krissy is holding Claire against her chest with one arm and shooting a gun with her other.

“You with me, Claire? _Claire?_ You’re all right. We’re going to get you out of here, OK?”

Claire doesn’t answer but grips Krissy’s shirt tighter.

“C’mon, Dean, where the fuck are you,” Krissy mutters to herself.

There’s a crash and a blue light, a few gunshots around the corner before Dean kicks a guy against the wall and shoves the First Blade through his chest. Cas follows closely behind, smiting a dude half a foot taller than him while watching Dean to make sure he’s all right.

Claire is suddenly alert and pulling away from Krissy’s chest in determination. She stands and runs toward Dean and Cas, despite Krissy’s protests that she needs to stay put.

And then around the corner comes a woman being held by the hair, the man holding her shifty and smaller than the others. Claire yanks the First Blade out of Dean’s hand and shoves it in the man's eye. Then she drops to her knees and holds her mom in her arms.

It becomes eerily quiet.

Dean turns to Krissy and throws his arms up in confused defeat.

 

* * *

 

Claire practically carries her mom into her room and shuts the door behind them when they get back to the bunker.

“Think they’ll be OK?” Sam asks as he and Dean stare at the closed door.

“No,” Dean answers truthfully.

“Dean—”

“I need some time to myself.” Dean turns toward Sam and looks up at him as if ready for a fight. “I’m going to go to the bar.”

“Yeah. All right. Tell Donnie I said hey.”

“Seriously? That’s it?”

Sam shrugs. “I know you’re used to us fighting over everything, Dean, but it’s time we let each other be our own people for a change.” He pats him on the back. “Tell Cas before you go.”

Cas is even cooler about it than Sam, and within the hour Dean is sitting at the bar staring down at a bowl of nachos wondering how simultaneously their lives are fucked up yet not dysfunctional.

“Something on your mind?” Donnie asks, leaning his elbows on the bar to talk to Dean.

“Don’t you have a bar to run? Sam says hey, by the way.”

Donnie gestures to the nearly empty bar. “You really think I don’t have time for this conversation? C’mon, tell me what’s up.”

“How long have I been coming in here? Two years?”

“Off and on, yeah.”

“You ever hear me say that I think Sammy and I are…getting along? And that Cas and I are in a healthy, committed relationship?”

Donnie throws his head back and laughs, but he stops immediately when he sees the serious look on Dean’s face. “Oh god, you’re not joking.”

“No, I’m really not.”

“Dude, that’s fucking awesome. Why do you seem stressed out about it?”

“It’s weird! It’s just weird. I’m not used to it.”

“Dean. Relax. Sometimes good things happen.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just stares blankly at Donnie until the guy rolls his eyes and walks away.

Good things don’t happen to Dean.

He tries to get drunk. His body won’t let him. He keeps seeing Amelia Novak’s face, looking vapid and lost and beyond hope. His— _Cas_ did that to her. Their fucked up lives did that to her. He hopes she’s in a clear enough state of mind one day to forgive them.

He thinks about _all_ of the people who have died for them, all of the people whose lives have been negatively affected in some huge way because of them. He might not be able to ask for their forgiveness, but he can try his damnedest to prevent it from happening anymore. 

He’s pretty much the last one left in the bar when he goes to the bathroom a few hours later.

It’s the first time in weeks that he actually takes the time to look at his face. He’s lucky he lost a lot of the…deformities when Krissy gave him her blood, but it’s still hard to reconcile the fact that he looks both demonic and human at the same time. He can still see the roots of his horns if he looks closely enough, and there are scars on his cheeks from where his skin healed over.

He stares so long that he wants to punch the mirror, but he refrains. He really wishes he could kill something right now.

The opportunity presents itself almost immediately.

The bar really is empty when he comes out of the bathroom, and it takes him a moment to notice the red-haired woman standing across the room from him.

“Oh, _this_ is unexpected,” the woman says.

“Um.”

The click of her heels is deafening as she slowly makes her way across the room to Dean. “Nobody told me you were still a demon.”

“Listen, lady, I don’t know who you are—”

“I’m Rowena. I’m the witch who’s going to burn that Mark right off your arm.” She pokes the Mark with a long fingernail, and Dean instinctively pulls back.

“Yeah, OK. Thanks, but no thanks.”

She grips his wrist so hard it burns. “You listen to me, Dean Winchester. I came here tonight fully intending to kill you. If you weren’t a disgusting _demon,_ we wouldn’t even be having this conversation right now.”

Dean laughs. “All right, so? Sorry you can’t kill me I guess? Can I go home now?”

She squeezes, and now it really fucking hurts. “I want the Blade.”

“Um, no.”

She lets go of his hand and relaxes into a ridiculous smile. “Fine, dear. I’ll try the other Winchester instead.”

“Wait, don’t!”

She disappears.

 

* * *

 

_Hey, chief._

_Why am I…I can’t be back here._

_Why not? This is your happy place. What if it’s your heaven? Remember what you said to me when we first met? About the purity of this place? Dean, slow down. Dean, stop. Listen. This place, you don’t have to go looking for a fight. All you have to do is be still for one moment, and that fight will come to you. That’s why you’re here, Dean. That’s the purity you crave—killing with no consequence._

_No, Benny. I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m tired of fighting._

_The Mark ain’t. So, can’t leave, don’t want to stay? There’s always a third option. You can’t say you haven’t been thinking about it._

_That ain’t going to happen. Ever._

_What, you just waiting for the Mark to reclaim you? Maybe kill a few humans? Kill Cas? Kill your brother? Go rule hell with Crowley and Abaddon? Yeah, that’s mighty honorable!_

Dean wakes up in a sweat right before the First Blade lodges into Benny’s chest.

The nightmares are getting weirder.

On impulse, he closes his eyes and concentrates on flying.

When he opens his eyes, he’s in a forest.

Benny is sitting against a tree, sharpening his knife very intently.

“That blood of yours been’s tainted, chief,” he says without looking up.

Dean walks over and plops down next to him in the dirt. “You’re not surprised to see me.”

“There’ve been some whispers.” He turns a smug smile at Dean before continuing, “Everybody knows everything about Dean Winchester, brother.”

“I’m guessing you’ve met some of the sons of bitches I’ve sent down here lately.”

“We got more traffic than ever before, if that’s what you mean.”

“How you doing, Benny?”

Benny stops sharpening his knife and gives Dean a confused look.

“I mean, I sent you down here for-for _nothing._ You shouldn’t be here, man.”

“Nah, I should. I wasn’t any good topside, chief. This is, uh…” He cuts himself off with a laugh and a shake of his head.

“It’s what?”

“It’s home, man.” He keeps sharpening his knife, and it’s the only sound between them for a couple of minutes. “Just wish I could find a new buddy to kill monsters with.”

Dean grabs his shoulder. “You deserved better, Benny.”

He laughs disbelievingly. “You always gave me more credit than I’m worth. Now, enough about me. Why you visiting now? You’ve had access to this place for months, so what was stopping you?”

Now Dean’s the one laughing. “I didn’t even think about it, honestly. I mean—lots of shit’s been going on. It’s not that I don’t care about you anymore or anything, but—”

“You’re a time bomb, and you’re in love with your angel. I get it. Continue.”

“Um. Yeah. But, uh, I had a nightmare about purgatory. And you. Just now. So I wanted to see the real you.”

“Nightmares—they getting worse?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re going to be OK, Dean.”

“Nightmare you said the opposite.”

Benny bumps into Dean’s shoulder. “There a cure for the Mark?”

“Working on one.”

“In the meantime?”

“I’m a demon-human hybrid.”

“Could be worse.”

“Yeah.”

The leaves crunch beside them, and Dean turns to find three pairs of eyes in the dark.

He and Benny both jump to their feet and pull out their weapons. They stand back-to-back.

“You ready, brother?”

“Just like old times, right?”

“Just like old times.”

 

* * *

 

Charlie almost keeps her promise of punching Sam in the face when she shows up at the bunker to find the Scottish witch lady hanging out in the dungeon and Dean nowhere to be found.

“Wait, you know Rowena?” Sam asks as Charlie storms downstairs.

 _“Rowena?_ Is that her name? In my mind I was referring to her as the Poser Ginger.”

“I think she can help us. I mean, obviously I don’t trust her for a second, but—”

“And where’s Dean? Why doesn’t he know about this?”

“Um, Dean’s missing.”

Charlie pauses and rounds on Sam. “I’m sorry, I thought you just said that Dean’s missing.”

“Um, yeah, so Cas is out looking—”

_“What in the world do you mean Dean’s missing, Sam?”_

“I don’t know! We woke up two mornings ago and he was gone, so I called Cas—”

“Does Cas not live here?”

“He mostly does, but he’s trying to find a cure like you are, and—”

“How do you guys just _lose_ Dean? I swear, you might be the best hunters in the world, but you are the absolute worst at everything else.” She gets to the door of the dungeon and stops before opening it.

“Charlie—”

“I’m going to go talk to Rowena. Alone. Goodbye.”

“Trouble with the Winchesters?” is how Rowena greets Charlie once she’s inside.

“What are you doing here?”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you, dear? Now, come on, show me the book.” She reaches one cuffed hand out in anticipation, her face all pinched together like a creepy doll in a horror movie.

“I don’t have it with me. That’s not up to me to decide when you get to see it. I’m here to ask you what you know about the Mark.”

Rowena sits back in her chair and raises an impressed eyebrow at Charlie. “You’ve heard some things, I can tell.”

Charlie sits on the table across from Rowena and wraps her arms around her knees. “They’re just rumors. It’s not—they’re not true.”

“Oh, but what if they were, darling?” Rowena stands and gets as close to Charlie as possible before her chains stop her. “What if that Mark comes off and the world goes up in flames?” She gestures to the room. “What if it _really is_ the _only_ thing holding this happy illusion together?”

“What, like let Vaatu out of prison? See how long it takes before Raava disappears completely? And you’re telling me that _Dean Winchester_ is holding all of that inside of him? The very fabric of good and evil, all wrapped up in freckles and flannel?”

Rowena stares at her like she’s speaking a different language.

“Forget it. I’ll bring you the stupid book.”

 

* * *

 

Dean doesn’t know how long he’s been in purgatory.

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to leave.

He can kill guiltlessly here. Everybody is thirsty for blood, and he’s the goddamn king. The Mark has never felt better.

He’s stabbing a djinn through the eye when the body is tossed away to reveal Abaddon standing in front of him.

She hisses at him before grabbing him by the shoulder and flying them out.

 

* * *

 

“I used to read to my mom. When she was in the hospital and…unresponsive, I would read _The Hobbit_ to her. It was the first book I ever read. Or, well, she read it to me before I went to bed every night. Um.”

“What happened to her?”

“I got scared at a sleepover. The kids had a Ouija board, and things happened. After I met Sam and Dean, actually, I realized that the stuff I saw was probably real. Anyway, I called my parents and they got in a wreck on the way over. Dad died, Mom was brain dead.”

“How are you so calm about this?”

Charlie shakes her head and smiles at Claire. “I let go of the guilt I felt, and that changed everything. Also, I let go of my mom. Realized she was never coming back, and…” She pauses and reconsiders. “I’m not saying that’s what’s happening to you, Claire. There’s a lot more hope for your mom. But, um, just be patient. Don’t blame yourself. And don’t feel bad if she, uh, takes a while to recover.”

Claire nods in acceptance, and Charlie starts to leave the room.

“Hey, Charlie.”

“Hmm?”

“Your parents loved you very much. They don’t blame you for anything that happened to them.”

The peace that washes over Charlie is immediate, solid, sure. “Thank you, Claire.”

 

* * *

 

Dean is strung upside down several feet over Abaddon’s head. It’s dark. Too dark to see anything but her orange eyes searing into him.

“You’re a _human?_ A goddamn _human?_ I don’t appreciate how useless you’ve become to me, Dean.”

“I’m sorry, your majesty, but when the fuck was I ever useful to you?”

“That’s not the _fucking_ point!” Flames lick the walls. There are several distant screams. “You’re a Knight of goddamn Hell for Christ’s sake! And you’re kicking around purgatory with your lumberjack lover when you should be _here ruling hell with me!”_

“You could, you know, just—like, tell me you’re jealous.”

Dean hears the whip crack before he feels it slice into his skin. Pronged. Nice touch.

“You could’ve been ruler of this place, Dean. Your brother, too. I heard what he’s been up to. You two have so much potential if you would _just…_ ”

“Look, this is great and all, but can I go home now?”

“You could rule purgatory, too. You stay there and do whatever you want while your brother takes care of hell. Boy King and Righteous Man in their respective places of power. Imagine it.”

“You’re really losing it, Abaddon.”

She lets the whip sink in this time. Dean can feel chunks of his skin being ripped out. He's so chilled out that he really doesn't care.

“I will burn you, Dean Winchester.”

“All right, Moriarty. Sounds great. Seriously, how ‘bout letting me just—”

She screams loudly enough to make Dean’s ears bleed, and then everything stops as she _throws_ him.

He flops onto his memory foam mattress and groans in pain before healing himself.

 

* * *

 

“Dean! Where the hell have you been?” Sam asks as he wraps his brother up in a hug.

“Uh, I was in purgatory.”

“What?”

“Long story. How-how long was I gone?”

“Four days. We were worried sick, man.”

Dean decides not to point out that Sam doesn’t sound very worried at all. “Where’s Cas?”

Sam huffs a laugh and answers, “Been looking for you the past couple of days.”

Dean shuts his eyes and prays, “Cas, I’m back home, so—”

“Hello, Dean.” Cas doesn’t wait for a response before pulling Dean in by the back of the neck and kissing him fiercely. “I missed you.”

“Missed you, too, buddy.”

Sam clears his throat and says, “So, uh, we got a bit of a situation here—”

“Oh god. Don’t tell me that redheaded skank showed up.”

“Uh, well…”

“She most certainly _is_ here,” Charlie cuts in as she joins them all in the war room. “She’s translating the Book of the Damned as we speak.”

“Oh, great. What a fucking great idea. Let’s have the crazy witch read a super old, dangerous book! Excellent plan, fellas!” Dean shouts.

“Dean, this is the most progress we’ve—”

“Shut it, Sam. You can count me out when this bites you in the ass.”

He storms off to his room. He doesn’t stop Cas from following him.

“It’s going to be all right, Dean.”

“You know, I’m really sick of everybody telling me that. It’s not all right! It’s-it’s getting worse. Since Cain died, it’s so much _worse_ , Cas.” He sits on the edge of the bed and drops his head in his hands. “I have to fight every day not to turn into a… _thing_ again." 

Cas sits down next to him and rubs his lower back. “Sam does not trust Rowena, and neither do I. Neither does Charlie. That’s why Charlie is helping with the translation. She will know if the witch is lying to us.”

“I’m sorry I disappeared.”

“I knew where you were.”

Dean lifts his head and looks at Cas curiously.

“Purgatory is not a bad idea. As a Knight of Hell, you can do a lot of good there. And if it feeds the Mark…”

Dean can’t help but laugh in response. “Dude, freaking _Abaddon_ said the same thing to me, like, a couple of hours ago.”

“Well, I’m sure her intentions were less pure than mine.”

“What if there really is no curing this?”

Cas takes Dean’s hand and squeezes it hard before bringing it to his lips. “Then you and I will spend our eternal days staring at each other.”

Dean laughs and drops his forehead to Cas’ shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you as well.”

 

* * *

 

Charlie and Rowena have been sitting in silence for two hours when it happens.

They both look up from their respective book and laptop at almost the exact same time.

“I’ll go get Sam and Dean,” Charlie says as she stumbles out of her chair and into the hallway.

Five minutes later, Charlie, Cas, Dean, Sam, Krissy and Claire are all standing in a circle staring at Rowena.

“A-hem,” she starts dramatically. “Miss Bradbury and I have confirmed a highly unfortunate suspicion.”

“Which is?” Dean asks impatiently.

“It appears that, well, the Mark of Cain—it is, so to speak, the key to holding together the forces of good and evil.”

“What?” several people ask in unison.

“In other words, if we take that Mark off Dean’s arm, all of the evil in the whole world is going to escape, and there won’t be enough good to stop it,” Charlie explains.

Everybody looks at Dean.

Dean has his arms crossed tight over his chest and his brow pinched as he stares at the floor. “What are you looking at me for?”

“We can, of course, still discover a cure,” Rowena continues. “Unspeakable evil could be released upon the face of the earth, but Dean will be better.”

“Keep translating,” Sam says in a rather dark tone. “Maybe there’s other shit in there about how to prevent that from happening. And find the cure, OK?”

“Sammy, you can’t actually think—”

“We’ll figure it out, Dean. We always do.”

They all watch as Sam practically storms out of the room and slams the door shut behind him.

Cas drops a hand to Dean’s shoulder and sighs sadly.

“Hey, Charlie,” Claire starts. “See if there’s anything in there about transferring the Mark.”

“Why?”

“The burden was easier to carry when Cain and Dean both had it. What if we could…transfer it to several people? Then—”

“No. No, absolutely not. I wouldn’t wish this shit upon my worst enemy,” Dean interrupts, pushing away from Cas and toward Claire.

Claire closes the distance left between them and stares up into his eyes. “The cool thing about free will is that you can’t control the decisions other people make. Sorry, Dean.”

They stare at each other for a minute until Krissy breaks the tension with, “Is there anything we can do to help you guys? I mean, like, with the translating and stuff? Cas probably knows like a million languages.”

“Roughly 6,300 actually,” Cas corrects.

“Ugh, would you all _please_ just leave us? I cannot concentrate in this environment,” Rowena says as she rubs her fingertips against her temples.

Charlie takes her seat. Dean drags Cas out by the hand. Claire and Krissy are much gentler as they also walk out hand-in-hand.

“Well, that went about as well as I imagined,” Charlie comments.

“Keep reading, dear. There’s always a solution.”

“Really? You actually buy what you’re selling?”

Rowena blinks her eyes up at Charlie very seriously. “I’m a 300-year-old witch. I didn’t make it this long by luck.”

 

* * *

 

“We’re going to get that thing off your arm, Dean. No matter what it takes.”

“Are you even hearing yourself, Sam? Honestly, _are you?_   Because the Sam Winchester _I_ know wouldn’t go sacrificing the whole goddamn world to save his brother. No, actually, the last thing I remember is that Sam Winchester _saves_ the world by _saving_ his brother. They go hand-in-hand, goddamn it!”

“What about you, huh, Dean? What about when we were going to shut the gates of hell _forever_ , and you wouldn’t let me because you didn’t want me to die? What about then, Dean!”

“You ever stop and think about the fact that shutting the gates of hell wasn’t even fucking _necessary?_ We were doing it just because we could! Guess what, Sam, we didn’t shut the gates of hell and the world kept right on spinning. We’re all still here. But we damn well _won’t_ be if we go through with this cure bullshit!”

Sam stands forcefully from his chair and towers over Dean. “Well, what do you want me to do? I’m not letting you fucking die! Or-or live your life as a demon! You hold the very fabric of good and evil inside you, and you think I’m just going to let that _slide?”_

Dean takes a step forward and lifts his chin. “I think you don’t give a goddamn rat’s ass about the world.” He gets right next to Sam’s ear and whispers, “See, ‘cause you got red all around you, man. You got red all around you like you did when you were all hopped up on demon blood. So I don’t know what the fuck’s going on with you, but it’s taken me too damn long to notice that this happy, carefree, sharing and caring Sam is one big mask.” He steps back and stares into Sam’s blank eyes. “Yeah, you try that puppy dog thing all you want. All I’m seeing right now is apathy.”

Dean turns to leave.

“I’m not stopping until you’re not a demon anymore.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Such _good_ intentions you got there. Very convincing.”

“I’m not doing this because I’m _addicted!”_

Dean forcefully spins back around. “I’m sorry, did I just go back in time? Is this really an argument you’re using right now?”

“You’re sick, Dean! You could break any moment! I won’t let you kill everyone you love! Maybe you’re the one faking your intentions and acting like you give a damn about the world when really you just _don’t want to be cured!”_

Dean hears his brother yelling during his entire walk down the hall and to his room.

He doesn’t have nightmares. He has memories replayed in his head over and over. Sam drinking blood out of milk jugs. Sam smiting demons without even blinking. Sam listening intently as Famine tells him his addiction will only make him stronger.

He wakes up with a gun in his hand.

 

* * *

 

Charlie goes for a grocery run.

She should’ve known it was suspicious when Rowena was the one who asked her to go.

By the time she spots the first Styne, there are already two others coming toward her.

Everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

“Charlie and I have discovered the first few steps of the spell,” Rowena announces calmly to Sam, Dean and Cas.

“Where the hell _is_ Charlie?” Dean asks.

“Groceries. Now, do you want to hear the spell or not?”

“Will it unleash ‘unspeakable evil’ on earth if we do it?”

“Yes.”

Dean starts to walk out. “Then no.”

“The first ingredient is one pound of flesh from the mouth of one who protected God’s disobedient,” Rowena states without even bothering to see if Dean leaves or not.

“Whale blubber,” Cas says immediately.

Dean turns back around and stands next to Cas. “Excuse me?”

[“Jonah.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Jonah+1&version=NKJV) He was swallowed by a large fish, presumably a whale. We need a pound of whale blubber.” Cas shrugs like this is the most obvious thing.

“The second ingredient is the head of one who failed to do wrong.” She doesn’t give them time to work that one out before continuing, “And the only other ingredient I know at this time is the grace of an angel who loves God less than man.”

“No,” Dean growls.

“Dean—”

“Cas, no! You’re not giving your grace up for me!”

“That is not up to you to determine, Dean.”

“God, you sound like Claire. How come I don’t get a say in all this!”

Sam interrupts, “Finish finding the ingredients. Then we’ll figure out what to do.”

 

* * *

 

“Who is this?” Dean asks as soon as he answers the phone.

“Well I got to say, that friend of yours is a tough one. She wouldn’t break no matter what we did to her.”

Dean immediately heads to his room to get a gun and his keys. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s a real shame. She was so young and pretty. It hurt me to carve her into pieces.”

“I swear to god, you son of a bitch, if you don’t—”

“I want the Book of the Damned, Dean. Or else I’ll find and kill the rest of your friends, too.”

The guy hangs up.

Dean leaves without telling anyone.

 

* * *

 

The Stynes are an old Southern family that falsely claims a lineage back to Victor Frankenstein.

They truly do believe they can steal body parts from other human beings to replace ones of their own that have failed.

Only about 20 percent of their experiments have every actually worked—the ones medically possible, like organ transplants.

Which means that 80 percent of the Stynes have stolen limbs that serve no function but to hang lifelessly from their bodies. Many of them believe that they do in fact have control over these limbs. Every bit of it is delusion.

It’s easy killing the guards out front. Dean presses a hand over their mouths and slits their throats, then uses their bodies as shields to shoot those who spot him.

It is silent. Peaceful. A wave of power, adrenaline, arousal—everything good and perfect washes over Dean with each kill.

He meets the healthier Stynes when he gets inside. Four very large men attack him at once, but as two of them reach for his arms to hold him still, Dean flies behind one of them and stabs him in the back. Then he throws his body toward the other guy and turns to shoot the third right between the eyes at point-blank range. One guy charges at him, so Dean throws him over his shoulder and crushes his head under his foot before spinning to the last remaining man standing and cutting his abdomen open. 

The next dozen or so people Dean encounters aren’t even doing anything. Some of them don’t even notice him. They’re cooking food in the kitchen or reading a book in the living room or heading toward the bathroom or something.

He kills every single one of them.

The silence returns. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Everything smells like iron. His whole body is throbbing with power like he’s never felt before. He is vaguely aware of a crawling sensation in his face and believes it might be the roots of his horns growing.

The basement looks like an old morgue, with the low arched ceilings and stonewalls and everything. There are several medical examiner tables set up, and most of them have half-dead or completely dead people on them. Bodies torn apart, limbs ripped off, blood dripping to the floor.

A man with hair as white as his coat says, “Been expecting you,” without even turning around to look at Dean.

“Where is she?”

“Where’s the book?”

“OK, fine, we’ll play it your way.”

As the guy turns around, Dean flies over to him. It takes less than a minute to choke him to death.

There’s a teenage kid hiding in the corner, staring up at Dean with wide eyes.

“I’m not like them! I hate my family! I hate what they do here! Please! I’ve been trying to get out of here for—”

Dean shoots him in the head.

Silence again. The roots have made their way to his neck.

“Dean…”

He wouldn’t have heard it if he just had human ears. He flies to the sound and finds himself standing over a table, looking down at Charlie.

She’s missing three fingers on her left hand.

“What did they do to you?” Dean asks gruffly.

Charlie flinches, but Dean doesn’t care. “Just my hand. Nothing-nothing else.”

Dean nods.

For a brief moment, he considers leaving her there.

Instead, he throws her over his shoulder and heads back out to the car.

 

* * *

 

Cas sees Sam leaving the bunker with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, but he doesn’t stop him.

He doesn’t try to figure out where Dean went either.

Nobody knows where Charlie’s been for the past 24 hours.

Rowena finds the next two ingredients of the spell, and Cas gathers them for her.

He’s going through the motions because he doesn’t know what else to do.

He’s numb.

Nothing feels right anymore.

Then, suddenly, he keels over with pain centered in his abdomen and chest.

He screams, but nobody hears him.

It’s something…somebody…pulling him, but they don’t know that they’re pulling him. They don’t know that they’re longing for him. They’re reluctant about it, but the pull is too damn strong.

Cas flies. Blindly. He wakes up in a motel room that smells like iron and liquor.

Dean is lying face first on the floor, covered head to toe in other people’s blood.

He’s having a nightmare.

_“Cas! Castiel! Cas, no! No, no, no! Please don’t! Cas!”_

“Cas?”

He turns toward the faint voice and finds Charlie curled up in the corner shaking. There is a large bandage wrapped around her left hand.

He kneels in front of her and asks if she’s all right.

She immediately shakes her head and begins to cry. “I’m scared. I’m so scared, Cas. He-he killed everybody. He killed the concierge after we got a room key, then he killed the people in the lobby who saw. I-I can’t tell if he’s going to kill me. Please, Cas, I just—”

Cas is pulling her into his arms and getting ready to take flight when a voice stops him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?”

Cas mouths “it’s OK,” to Charlie before turning to face Dean.

His breath hitches in his throat when he takes in his appearance. The roots of Dean’s horns are dark red and severely pronounced under his skin, and they descend down his cheeks and his neck and under the collar of his shirt. His horns themselves have grown and curled, the prongs twisted together near his skull. His bottom right eyelid droops halfway down his face, and half of his upper lip is gone entirely. His hands are covered in black scales—or rather, more like tree bark—and there are 4-inch claws protruding from all of his fingertips. Cas catches a glimpse of scales at Dean's collar, too, and wonders just how much of his skin is ruined.

Dean smiles, and two cockroaches scurry out of his mouth and up into his horns. “C’mon, Cas, that’s no way to greet your boyfriend. Why don’t you come over here and give me a kiss?”

“How did you even manage to get drunk?”

Suddenly Dean is right in front of him, close enough for Cas to see minuscule parasites swimming beneath his corneas. He lifts a claw to Cas’ face and strokes down to his jaw. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Dean. Stop.”

He digs the claw into Cas’ skin. Cas doesn’t feel it. “Or what?”

“I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

Dean tilts his head and smiles dangerously. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

“What are you going to do when your human self takes back over? Because the Dean Winchester I know doesn’t kill everybody he makes eye contact with.”

“Yeah, well, that Dean was a dick, so—”

“I am not leaving you, Dean. You can murder and destroy and grow more evil every day, but I will not leave you. You will watch Sam, Charlie—everyone you know, everyone you love—die. Everyone except me. I’m going to be right here.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Cas doesn’t duck in time.

He feels the scales ripping into his flesh, the claws tearing through layers of skin and down to bone. Dean manages to take hold of a few of his wings and rips through them. One of them snaps like a twig.

It only takes a minute for Cas to fall to the floor. Dean straddles him and pulls the angel blade out of his sleeve. Charlie screams.

In one last ditch effort, Cas grabs the small human portion of Dean’s wrist and says, “Dean. Please.”

He doesn’t even flinch when the blade slams down inches from his face.

 

* * *

 

“Cas! Cas, wake up! Castiel!”

Cas jerks awake and winces in pain. Charlie is above him, still looking terrified.

“Where—Dean—”

“He walked out the door and disappeared less than 10 minutes ago. Dude, are you OK? Can you, like, heal yourself? Can you fly?”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He focuses on his grace and channels it toward his injuries. It takes 30 seconds to heal everything save his most broken wing. He can worry about that later.

“Yes, I can fly.” He yanks Charlie down to his chest and says, “Hold on,” before taking off.

He expects chaos when they land in the bunker. Instead, they are greeted with silence.

“I’m going to go to the dungeon. You should—”

“Oh, no, buddy, I’m coming with you,” Charlie insists as she pulls a gun out of her jeans.

They tiptoe downstairs and are more confused than anything when they see who’s outside the prison door.

“Crowley?” Cas asks.

“Good evening. You two look as confused as I did.”

“What’s going on?”

“Mother dearest called me here an hour or so ago. Said it was urgent.”

“Mother?”

“The redheaded bitch on the other side of this door. She’s been riding my bloody ass the past few months—I was more than happy to pass her off to Sam.”

“Who’s inside?” Charlie asks.

“I’ve no idea. Just got here myself. Shall we?” He gestures to the door.

They cautiously push through, and that’s when things get even more confusing.

Rowena is no longer in chains and she is intently reading the book in front of her. Sam looks bored. Krissy and Claire are sitting by the far wall seemingly just to observe.

Death is standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed over his cane. He is staring at Dean, who is backed into the corner yelling.

 _“Kill me! Just fucking kill me already! Why won’t you fucking kill me!_ Look _at me! Just_ look!”

Rowena is the only one to acknowledge their entrance. Her face lights up when she sees Crowley.

“Ah! Perfect. The head of one who failed to do wrong, one of the missing ingredients. Dean! Would you be so kind as to decapitate my son?”

“Wait—what in the _bloody hell?”_

Dean screams, or more like he roars, and he yanks at his hair with both his hands like his head is about to explode. He makes no move toward Crowley.

“Why—what is this? Why can’t I move?” Crowley asks in a panic.

Nobody answers, but Cas doesn’t miss the way Sam smirks and flits his eyes toward the floor.

“Now, the grace of an angel who—”

“Don’t take Cas’,” Claire cuts in as she makes her way across the room toward Rowena. “I have plenty of his grace left in me. It’ll work.”

“Claire, no—” Cas starts, but Claire cuts him off with a pointed look.

_"Why won't anybody listen to me? Kill me! Fucking kill me!"_

Rowena does nothing to retrieve the grace out of Claire before continuing, “And the last missing ingredient: evil as unspeakable as the Mark itself.” Before they can process what she said, Rowena’s eyes roll back in her head and she begins an indecipherable chant.

The walls begin to shake. Death is the only one not to react.

When everything settles, a voice speaks from the darkest corner of the room. “Well, this plan is working marvelously.”

Abaddon steps into the light, huge smile on her face and a locust monster on her shoulder.

Everyone starts shouting different things all at once, but Abaddon silences them with a wave of her hand. Everyone except Death, who sighs and looks at his watch.

“Good work, Rowena,” Abaddon praises as she moves around the table to the witch’s side. “I wasn’t sure if you could pull it off, but you’ve really done a number here.”

“I told you, dear, you’re working with the best. We hit a few setbacks, but that’s always to be expected.”

“Don’t do it!” Dean starts up again, still holding his head in his hands and rocking back and forth. “I can feel it in me, and-and you can’t release this onto the world! You can’t do it! Don’t—please don’t let everyone die for me! Just-just kill me! Kill me already!”

Abaddon drops a hand to her hip and laughs. “Oh, Dean. We’re not going to actually _use_ this cure on you. We just wanted to bring everybody together so we could kill everyone. Everyone except you, of course. You, I have big plans for—horns and all. Now, let’s get started.”

Abaddon raises her hand again, but she’s immediately disappointed when nothing happens.

“What the fuck,” she whispers.

“Nice try, but that’s not going to work,” Sam says quietly.

“Excuse me?”

He doesn’t even turn to look at Abaddon. “I _said_ that’s not going to work. You can’t kill us. I’m more powerful than you. Now perform the fucking cure or I swear to god—”

Abaddon flies and lands right in front of Sam’s face. “How dare you! You are a _gnat._ I will squash you! I will—”

Her body begins to contort like someone else is controlling it. Rowena begins a different chant. Cas makes eye contact with Death. Death winks at him and disappears.

Abaddon manages to break an arm free and reaches for Sam’s neck.

“No!” Dean shouts as he stumbles across the room and grabs blindly at Abaddon.

At the same time, Rowena puts a knife to Claire’s neck seemingly to get the grace out, but Krissy cuts in and shoves Claire out of the way.

While the chant comes to its conclusion, Dean, Abaddon, Claire and Sam collide together.

There is a piercing, horrible sound as red light pours out of Sam, blue light pours out of Claire, black light pours out of Abaddon and white light pours out of Dean.

Then there is silence.

 

* * *

 

“Dean! What did you do?”

“I fell,” Dean manages to say between sobs.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s OK. Look, it’s just your knee.”

Dean looks down at his knee and it’s more blood than he’s ever seen in his three and a half years of life. He cries harder.

Mary wraps him up in her arms and rocks back and forth. “Shh, shh, angel. It’s all right. Let me take you inside and get that all bandaged up, OK?”

“OK.”

“That’s my boy. You’re so brave, Dean. My little hero.”

Dean blinks awake and lifts his right arm to inspect it.

Smooth skin.

No Mark.

He feels like he just lost a hundred pounds.

Suddenly Cas’ face is above him, his eyes shining bright and concerned like Dean’s never seen before.

“Hey,” Dean croaks.

“Hey! Hey. You’re OK. You’re with me. You with me, Dean?”

Dean nods and latches onto Cas’ wrist.

“Sam—and Claire—”

“Shh, shh, it’s OK.”

 

* * *

 

Claire is the only one of the four not to pass out.

When Krissy runs to her and grabs her face in her hands, Claire doesn’t understand what the big deal is.

“What do you mean? You just—and there was this light—and then they—and you—”

“Very eloquent, Krissy.”

“Wait. Wait! Your arm!” Krissy grabs Claire’s left hand, and Claire still doesn’t get what the big deal is—

“Holy fucking shit, my _arm_ ,” Claire exclaims as she extends her left arm out and wiggles all of her fingers. “I haven’t been able to do that since—since—it’s been—I—”

Krissy’s face falls as she examines Claire’s healed limb. “Um.” Her fingers trace a scar.

The Mark.

 

* * *

 

Abaddon wakes up feeling more powerful than she ever has before. She knows the Mark of Cain is on her arm without even having to look down at it. She recognized the transfer spell as soon as Rowena started it. Not a bad back-up plan.

She grabs Crowley by the throat and flies them back to hell.

Maybe his mom wants him dead, but she’s got big plans for their new regime.

 

* * *

 

No cravings.

That’s the only thought in Sam’s head when he wakes up.

Absolutely not a single goddamn craving.

Not even an itch.

Whatever was inside him—whatever his own twisted, nearly demonic soul was—it ejected out of him and took its portion of the Mark with it.

Sam begins to cry and laugh at the same time.

 

* * *

 

Silence.

They sit around one large table in the library and listen to the clock on the wall tick, tick, tick.

“The Mark can’t affect me negatively,” Claire finally states as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“What?” Krissy and Dean ask at the same time.

“I don’t know why I know, but I know. The Mark holds the balance of good and evil, right? I got the good half.”

“Again. _What?”_

“The evil latched onto the most evil. Abaddon is pure evil, and Sam had the demon blood so…”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam says, sounding embarrassed.

“What about me? Why am I…?” Dean starts.

“You’re human. Human only,” Cas answers without even looking at Dean.

“Yeah, but _how?”_

“It was a transfer spell. _All_ of the evil, not just the Mark, transferred out of you,” Claire explains.

“OK, does that mean all the good transferred out of me, too, and now you have it?”

“No, that’s not—it doesn’t work like that. I don’t know! I just know what’s true. I don’t have all the answers.”

More silence.

“If any of you summon me again for any reason whatsoever,” Death says from where he’s appeared in the corner, “then I’m reaping all of you straight to hell where Abaddon is even more evil than she was before.”

He disappears as quickly as he came.

More silence.

Dean’s the one who breaks it.

“Does anybody want to, like, take a break from hunting for a while?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referenced verses: 
> 
> [2 Corinthians 12:7-9](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2+corinthians+12%3A7-9&version=NKJV)  
> [Jonah 1](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Jonah+1&version=NKJV)


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks.

Endings are still hard.

Maybe that’s why so many stories are left abandoned, or worse—dragged on and on until the audience is begging for an end. Sometimes the problem isn’t wrapping up the story but letting it go. Letting go is hard.

You try to throw in that last minute twist or introduce a new villain in the final act, and it never turns out the way you want it to. It’s always going to feel rushed, the audience is always going to feel cheated, and you’re always going to be wondering, “Is it possible for me to write more of this? Does this really have to be the end?”

You’d think with a story like Sam and Dean’s, there would be some big, dramatic end. A huge climax followed by a sigh-of-relief type resolution. It should be satisfying, right?

But that’s not how the story goes.

Because really, after everything Sam and Dean have been through over the years, it’s fitting that their story would end with a whisper instead of a shout. They deserve some rest. They’ve earned a boring end—quitting hunting, growing old, never saving the world again. Learning to accept the fact that the world actually is pretty much OK without them saving it.

Sure, they take on a small case every once in a while, but there would be no more literal earth-shattering moments for them. 

And yeah, maybe Dean still sometimes thinks about what kind of world it could’ve been had he followed Abaddon’s advice and become ruler of purgatory while Sam was the king of hell.

Maybe in another draft.

"How you feeling, Sammy?" Dean asked once they were alone.

"Normal."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, like, for the first time in my life." Sam smiled down at the floor. "Listen, Dean, I'm sorry I lied to you."

"Forgiven."

"What?"

Dean shrugged. "I know how hard that addiction was for you. And you were trying to be yourself through it, just like I was trying to be myself through also being a demon."

"I wanted to stop. I really did, Dean. I-I tried to detox. Couldn't, uh, do it without you forcing me. I thought maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

"I could be like you." Sam looked into Dean's eyes for a long time before continuing, "I thought I could have all this...evil inside of me, and still be me. And then I thought, 'well, hey, if this demon thing with Dean doesn't work out, then at least I can join him.'"

"You would've gone with that? Really?"

"No, probably not, but it made sucking blood easier on my conscience."

"I, uh, I want you to make your own decisions from now on, Sam."

Sam huffed a laugh. "So you're commanding me to be independent, is that it?"

Dean laughed, too. "You know what I mean, bitch. I-I want you to do things that _you_ think are right for you. Not things you think _I_ think are right for you. You know?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I'll, um, try. I can do my best. Jerk."

"Good. That's good. Um. No more lying to each other, all right?"

"Deal. No more living just for the sake of each other, right?"

"Right. Shake on it."

They shook hands. The promise was kept.

For months after what Dean lovingly refers to as “Vegas’ greatest light show,” everyone kept expecting shit to hit the fan. Everybody flinched when Claire so much as raised her voice or swatted a fly. But she remained an enigma of impossible spirituality, and the Mark didn’t even affect the span of her life. 

However, there was nothing that could be done for Amelia Novak.

There was a time that looked like hope, but it came and went too quickly to hold onto. Amelia passed away with her daughter kneeling by her bed, holding her hand in both of hers. Claire spoke to no one but Charlie for an entire month. The only thing that got her to speak to others again was Castiel. He spent weeks in heaven searching and searching until finally, with Hannah's help, he found the Novaks' heaven. It turns out Jimmy and Amelia were soulmates. Jimmy pulled Cas in for a hug like an old friend. Amelia thanked him for taking care of their daughter. 

Claire spoke to Cas when he told her.

To their knowledge, it was the last recorded time anybody suffered or died because of Team Free Will.

Despite their conversation, Dean asked Sam annoyingly often if he had any cravings until the day Sam threatened to drink Dean’s blood if he didn’t shut the hell up.

Crowley called a few times. Begged for help with the way Rowena and Abaddon had pretty much taken over hell and ran things in a “completely uncivilized manner.” They started to block his calls.

Years down the line, Cas heard rumors from heaven that hell had gotten an upgrade. Crowley had demoted himself to the crossroads just so he could travel around and stay well under the radar of the people up top. Apparently, Rowena and Abaddon had added two more to the seats of their throne. "Some lower level demons named Meg and Bela," according to Hannah.

Now, before we wrap up, there are some things that need to be set straight. The interesting part about unreliable narration is that only the author knows which parts are unreliable.

That is, until right now.

First things first, when they were kids and Dean would come home bruised and bloody, it wasn’t always because he had been out turning tricks. Well, unless you count kicking grown men’s asses at pool “turning tricks.” When Sam found out about Dean’s sexual abuse, he assumed that’s _all_ his brother got into whenever he disappeared at night. But no, a lot of times it was much more innocent than that. Dean had a loud mouth and the skills to back it up, and that pissed a lot of guys off. The main reason Dean ever came home crying to Sam is because, well, guys had taken his money and Dean was afraid their dad would get pissed.

And of course when Dean was 17, he wasn’t enlisted into prostitution by some guys from _Breaking Bad._ That guy Rob? He cornered Dean in the bathroom of a seedy bar on Seventh at 10 p.m. and talked all smooth while he touched him. Dean was terrified and turned on and pumped full of adrenaline, and somehow he ended up outside in Rob’s buddy’s old Mustang. The buddy talked like a computer while Rob held Dean in the back, and when it was over they pushed Dean out of the car and threw cash at him. 

But Dean doesn’t need to remember it like that.

There are plenty of things Dean doesn’t remember correctly for any number of reasons. His dad never kicked him out on the street—he always took him to Bobby’s. But Dean’s early self-loathing needed to feel more punished than what reality provided for him.

Sam, on the other hand, saw things exactly as they were. He never, not once, bought into the lie that living a hunter’s life was more awesome than going to school and getting a career and having a family of his own. He tried to bring Dean into that mindset. Tried to make Dean see that reality was _bad enough._ No need to fabricate memories to make it worse than it already was.

Perhaps if Dean had grown up in a healthier environment with a more stable home he would’ve, well, liked himself more. 

It wouldn’t have taken him more than three decades to use the word “bisexual” without feeling dirty and embarrassed.

He wouldn’t have spent so much time projecting his faults onto his brother to preserve his own self-worth.

Maybe Sam and Dean would’ve had a healthier, more honest relationship.

Perhaps he could’ve been more confident in his identity, in his gender, in his place in the world. 

Maybe, just maybe, Dean would’ve recognized the difference between sexual abuse and sexual consent. He might’ve figured out how to get and receive pleasure from a person without also feeling scared.

Well, sooner at least.

Cas kept his word about spending his existence teaching Dean what a healthy relationship looks like.

Even when Dean was tied to a bed, gag in his mouth, whip in Cas’ hand—any number of things that Dean should’ve been afraid of—there was so much trust and love and care there that Dean sometimes laughed that he ever thought anything about hell was “enjoyable.”

“Your past sexual experiences do not define your present ones,” Cas would whisper as Dean fell asleep in his arms.

Maybe God’s first draft would’ve found Dean figuring all of these things out earlier in life. But that’s OK. There were undoubtedly other drafts where he didn’t figure any of this out at all and tragically lived a life where he didn’t even understand his attraction to men.

But this is the final draft.

The final draft with all of its rewrites and misprints and the messy, messy life of Dean Winchester.

He is not poetry.

He is not art.

He is something else entirely.

There was a great cost to saving the world, but Sam and Dean did not carry the burden for the duration of their lives. 

After hunting, after wrecking their own bodies and hearts with curses and blood and codependency, after everything—there was quiet.

There was Sam telling Dean about the Tuesdays. Dean wrapping Sam up in a hug and letting him cry into his shoulder.

There was Dean then telling Sam about end times that never happened. Cas did not say anything for several hours after that one.

There was forgiveness. Over and over and seventy times seven times over, there were apologies and forgiveness.

There was the moment when Sam and Dean realized—and it took a very long time—that they did not need to spend every waking minute together. That it would be better for them both if they had their own space, their own lives. 

Sam stayed in the bunker and became the new Bobby. He never settled down with anybody, but he got three dogs. He was content. Jody and her “friend” Donna moved in right down the street. They and Krissy, Claire, Alex and Charlie opened a coffee shop. They called it The Roadhouse. Their customers were mostly hunters. Krissy and Charlie kept hunting for a while—that is, until Claire proposed to Krissy when they were both 28. 

Of course, Dean and Cas came in for a mug every morning. They lived 10 minutes down the road with a white picket fence and green shutters. They said “I love you” to each other every day. 

Even when Dean really started to show his age, they still held hands and kissed each other’s foreheads in public. Dean always found it hilarious that people thought he was too old for his 4-billion-year-old boyfriend. Cas never seemed to care about Dean’s age. No matter how wrinkly and bald and slow he got, Castiel looked at him like he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen because he was.

There were other things, too, of course.

There was Kevin’s college graduation, then his master’s graduation, then his Ph.D. graduation.

After every single one, he told Sam and Dean, “Thanks for making me blind. I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for that. I wouldn’t have gotten out.”

There was the time Dean ran into Lisa Braeden. 

He could’ve sworn his heart stopped beating when he saw her. Luckily Cas was next to him to hold him upright.

She recognized him immediately.

“I’m sorry for what I put you through,” was all Dean could manage to say.

She stroked his cheek and smiled softly. “I forgive you, Dean.” She then patted his cheek condescendingly, shrugged, and said bluntly, “I mean, you fucked up pretty royally, but I forgive you.”

Cas laughed about it for three days.

That’s not to say that everything was easy after life slowed down. There were still nightmares, sleepless nights, arguments and fights that could shake the walls of old houses.

There were still times where Dean cried over people he couldn’t save and prayed to a God he didn’t believe in.

But he learned to let it out. He learned not to internalize everything. He didn’t blame himself for everything anymore, and he certainly didn’t project that blame onto everyone around him.

He was…better.

Not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but trying every day to get better.

More confident in his identity, too.

Although Cas still made him blush sometimes, Dean truly stopped caring how people viewed him. He might as well have held a bisexual flag over his head everywhere he went. In fact, he made a point to mention to people who only ever knew him as “in a relationship with Cas and therefore gay” that “just because I’ve been sucking the same dick for a decade doesn’t mean I stopped being bisexual.”

And he portioned out a section of his closet for dresses and lingerie.

He didn’t like wearing the dresses in public, but those were just for _him_ anyway. And, well, the “you’re so pretty, Dean” comments from Cas weren’t so bad either. Dean was, eventually, just fine with metaphorically leaving the boxes empty when the form asked “F or M.” 

There could, honestly, be volumes filled about Dean Winchester’s life. Even if he hadn’t lived past the age of 35 (which, remember, he never intended to do until he had done it), it would still be difficult to describe _everything._

The important thing? Dean’s a hero. Not in the sense that he saved the world (although he did) or that he lived a full life (although he did) or that he loved deeply (although he did).

Dean is a hero because that’s just who he is. He’s messy and flawed and contradictory and _real._

Hell, I bought into his story. If you’re reading this, then you too, reader, have bought into his story.

Maybe you can relate to Dean. Or maybe you understand things he’s been through. No matter the reason, remember: Dean is a hero.

He is not poetry.

He is not art.

 

When Tessa knocks on the door years and years and years later, Dean stands from his wheelchair, wraps them in a hug and greets them as an old friend. 

“You’re ready to go this time.”

“Sam already up there?”

“There is plenty of room for the two of you. Well, _after_ the party that’s waiting for you in ‘Winchester Land.’”

“Oh shit, did Ash find Jo and Ellen? Is Bobby there? What about my parents? My-my mom?” 

“Shh, Dean. Everyone is there. Except friends still here, of course.” Tessa pointedly looks at Cas. 

Cas leans down to Dean’s ear and whispers, “I’ll be up there soon.”

“I finally get to see your true form?”

Cas laughs and kisses the top of Dean’s nearly baldhead. “And I yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Shout-out to my beta, [Anne,](http://onceandfuturequeer.tumblr.com/) without whom this fic would be a huge fucking mess. Seriously. This fic wouldn't be half as good without Anne telling me what to do with every chapter.
> 
> 2\. Shout-out to all the people who have stuck with this fic for a loooooooooong time. I know who you are either by the amount of comments you've left here or by your URL on tumblr. Thank you. Seriously. It's been quite a journey.
> 
> 3\. Shout-out to the people who just found out about this fic yesterday (which, if you just found out about this yesterday and you're already reading the final notes, then goddamn you read fast). Y'all just as important as everybody else.
> 
> 4\. Though I tried to cram as much as humanly possible into the last 33 chapters, I'm sure there are things I missed. If you have questions or wish for me to explain something, please feel free to ask. You can comment, or you can find me on tumblr at [deancasheadcanons.](http://deancasheadcanons.tumblr.com/) I have reasons for pretty much every single decision I made in this fic, so I would be glad to discuss whatever you wish.
> 
> 5\. PLEASE, IF YOU MAKE A POST ON TUMBLR ABOUT THIS FIC, tag it "chronicles of dean's bisexuality" or "codb". Those are the tags I track the most, and I love random posts on tumblr about my fic almost more than I love nice comments. And remember, kids, it's got to be one of the first FIVE tags on an ORIGINAL post or else it won't be searchable. 
> 
> 6\. For the love of God please make fan art for literally anything you want in this fic. I would absolutely love to add artwork to /any/ chapter, so let me know if you would like to or have already done something.


End file.
